


The Rules Of Attraction - Stories 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, & 8

by spiderine



Series: The Rules of Attraction [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, First Times, M/M, Romance, Series: The Rules of Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-09
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 63,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderine/pseuds/spiderine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An in-progress series of stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Blair travel to Peru so Blair can undergo his initiation as a Chopec shaman.  
> Archived on 11/19/99

 

The Rules Of Attraction Part One

## The Rules Of Attraction Part One

by spiderine

* * *

The Rules of Attraction 

Part 1 

Disclaimer: Characters from "The Sentinel" series belong to Pet Fly. My imagination belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended; passion is its own reward. 

Notes: 1) This story takes place at some undetermined time in the third season, after "Warriors" but before "Sentinel Too". It is part 1 of an ongoing work. 2) My apologies to any Quechua speakers for mangling such a beautifully expressive language. I'm trying my best. 3) It's all Nikolaia's fault. 

* * *

"Sandburg, wake up." 

The room was dark and Jim was shaking his shoulder. "What, what is it, do we have a case?" 

"No, someone was on the balcony." 

Sandburg woke up, or sat up at least. "Someone tried to rob the place?" 

"No, it was a message. Get up, Sleeping Beauty. I want to show you something." 

"What time is it? Oh man, three fucking _thirty_?" In the kitchen, a blinking, drowsy, bitching Sandburg put on water for tea. Jim put a lumpy bundle about the size of his two fists on the table. 

Sandburg snapped on the light over the table and made them both wince. 

"The wrapping fabric looks Peruvian," he said, to be saying something. 

"It's a Chopec message bundle," Jim explained. "It's an invitation, or a summons." 

"You're going to Peru?" 

"Chief, it's for you." 

"What? That's so cool!" Sandburg was awake immediately. " How do you know?" 

Jim unwrapped the bundle and spread the contents on the fabric. He picked up a wolf's canine tooth. "See? That's you. And it's valuable, because the Chopec don't hunt wolves, so someone went to the trouble of obtaining this tooth from a dead wolf. That means the message is important." He put the canine tooth on the table and lined a feather up next to it. He pointed. "The feather that's for traveling. This particular type of feather is an invitation, but a pretty urgent one." 

"This is so cool! And what's that one?" Sandburg asked, peering over the table and tucking his hair behind his ears. 

Next to the feather, Jim lined up a large, iridescent beetle carapace. "That's the elders of the tribe. This is an official invitation, Chief." 

The final object was a narrow, delicate tube made from a bird's hollow bone, about as long as Jim's hand, carved and dyed with symbols. From one end hung an arrangement of beads and feathers. Jim picked it up and held it open in his palm. "This was Incacha's," he said quietly. 

"Incacha? He was..." 

"My spiritual guide when I was with the Chopec." 

Incacha and several Chopec warriors had come to Cascade for justice against the Cyclops Company which was beginning to bulldoze their forest. Although, with the Sentinel's help, the journey had been successful, it had cost the lives of Incacha and two of his companions. 

Sandburg put his hand into Ellison's open palm, covering the bone fetish. "Jim..." 

Jim pulled his hand away and carefully placed the bone in line with the other objects on the spread-out fabric. He didn't look at Sandburg. "Before Incacha died he passed the way of the shaman to you. Now the Chopec have decided that you need to undergo the trials of a shaman so you can truly become Incacha's successor." 

Sandburg squinted at the fetish, and realized his glasses were still in his bedroom. Sprinting back to grab them, he called out, "How do you know that? Is that what the symbols on the bone fetish mean?" He ran out of his bedroom with his glasses on and leaned over the kitchen table, pushing them farther up his nose and scrutinizing the fetish closely. 

Jim smirked. "No, genius, that's what Aqilu said when he dropped off the bundle." Sandburg looked up from the fetish, and Ellison enjoyed seeing the expression of happily stunned Sandburg. 

"Wow! That's so cool! Wow! We're going to Peru!" Sandburg bubbled, and bounced to his feet. As if responding to his mood, the teapot burst noiselessly into steam -- whistling teapots didn't go over well with Sentinel hearing. He bustled about happily with cups and tea. 

Ellison said, "Well, the invitation's for you really, but if you want me to come..." 

"Dude!" Sandburg said, banging a mug down with a clunk and a splash. 

Jim growled, "Watch the table!" 

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Sandburg replied, fumbling with paper towels. "But shit, Jim, of course you're coming with me. These are your people! Your friends! And besides, how else would I get there? How would I talk to them?" He handed Ellison a steaming mug of tea and started pacing. "Wow, I don't even know what to pack. And what about getting time off?" He stopped pacing and looked worriedly at Jim. "And what kind of trials of a shaman are we talking about here, anyway?" 

"I don't know," Jim shrugged. "I'm no shaman. The elders will probably have a lot of questions for you to answer about what you know and what you think, and there'll probably be some kind of ordeal. You know about this stuff, you probably have a better idea than I do what it is." 

"Yeah," Sandburg laughed. "It sounds just like defending a dissertation." He couldn't contain himself and bounced over to the balcony, gripping his elbows against the chill night air. "Wow," he wondered, gazing over Cascade. "Wow," he grinned. "I'm gonna get my witch doctorate." 

* * *

Sandburg was still "Wow!"ing a week later as he followed Ellison along the trail he was breaking through the depths of the La Montaa rainforest. 

He'd "Wow!"ed as Jim almost ashamedly revealed just how much vacation time he'd let pile up with the PD, and again as Captain Banks begrudgingly authorized Ellison a full four weeks off, clamping a dead cigar between his teeth and grumbling something about supposing it would keep "you two wackos from going fully off the deep end for the next year or so." He'd barely quit "Wow!"ing long enough to convince the Anthro department that the value of this opportunity was worth letting him off his teaching assignment for the duration, contingent of course on a paper and seminar on his experience when he returned. He'd "Wow!"ed and "This is so cool!"ed as Jim patiently explained exactly how little luggage they'd actually need and Sandburg realized this was going to be a full-bore gone-native encounter. He'd "Wow!"ed all the way to the airport, but spent the entire flight dead asleep, pretzled into a coach class window seat though Ellison did pick up the occasional sub-vocalized "wow" or "... so cool..." from his unconscious companion. 

And now he was "Wow!"ing his way through the Peruvian jungle, and Ellison was glad that the dense underbrush gave him something legitimate to swing his machete at, because despite how much he understood Sandburg's giddiness, after a week of it he was almost ready to take his head off. Almost. 

"Shit!" 

Well, Ellison thought, at least it's different. He turned back to his companion. "What's up, Chief?" Sandburg was pulling his weight remarkably well on their trek after all, he'd been on field studies before. But he was still Sandburg. Both men were working hard, but the forest had taken it out of Sandburg. His t-shirt and cutoffs were filthy and stinking, there were twigs and leaves and the occasional insect tangled into his ponytail, and his pack always looked like it was about to explode. Walking chaos, pure and simple, but never anything but exhilarated for the sheer adventure of it all. 

Sandburg had pulled his pack off and was clawing at his shoulder. "Something bit me," he griped. "These insects are murder." He tried to scratch the unscratchable spot on his own back. 

Jim pulled the water bottle off his belt. "Let's see." Sandburg pulled his shirt up his back and Jim wrinkled his nose. "Just take that fucking thing off and burn it, Chief." He took a look at the bite. 

From under the t-shirt Sandburg mumbled, "I'm not burning anything in a rainforest." He pulled the shirt over his head and stuffed it in an already stuffed pocket of his pack. Then, "oh, wow" (again) as Ellison poured water over his itching back. 

"The bite's nothing," Ellison said, and took a drink from the bottle before passing it over to Sandburg. 

"I didn't say it wasn't," he replied, "I just said it itched like murder." He took a drink. "Thanks," handing it back. 

Ellison pulled off his Jags cap and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Sandburg could see how much he was enjoying himself. Ellison would never do something as simple as smile, of course, but it was obvious that he was in his element, full of energy and more relaxed than Sandburg could remember him ever being. It wasn't fair; the same sweat and dirt that made Sandburg look like he had fallen into a gully (he'd only done that once!) merely made Jim look more a part of his environment. He'd gone shirtless almost from the moment they'd left the road, and a day and a half later, now, was breathing deeply, speaking rarely and totally focused on their surroundings. When he dropped his pack, the places where his shoulder straps had been showed up clean and red against the grime on the rest of his upper body, looking like ritual body painting. It was like trekking through the jungle with Doc goddamn Savage, Sandburg thought; he made you want to die from venom rather than look like a wuss by complaining about a bug bite. 

Jim was scoping around their immediate area. "What's the matter?" Sandburg asked. "Is there something wrong? Do you sense something?" 

"I sense _everything_ ," Ellison countered absently, "but nothing's wrong. I was just looking for..." he stepped a few feet off the trail and hacked at something. Coming back with a small handful of leaves, he allowed himself a small grin. "Turn around, Chief," he said, and stuffed the leaves into his mouth and started chewing. 

"Huh? What are you doing?" Sandburg asked as Ellison, still chewing, turned him around. Then something wet and stinging was slapped on his back. "What are you doing?" 

Jim spat the rest of the chewed leaves into the palm of his hand and spread the pulp over Sandburg's back. "Bug repellent," he explained. "Takes the sting away, too." He rubbed the astringent leaves deep into Sandburg's skin. Sandburg rolled his aching shoulders and groaned. "Oh" 

"Sandburg, if you say wow again I'm going to put a snake down your shorts." 

"Promises, promises," Sandburg groaned. He rolled his head to loosen his neck. Ellison worked his thumbs into Blair's muscles and rolled his palms over his shoulders and the back of his neck. Sandburg kept groaning. At least it was better than wowing, Jim thought. Blair hadn't really been that much of a pain on this trip and it was Blair's trip, after all. 

"You're not a bad trekking companion," Jim said over Sandburg's shoulder. 

"Thanks, man," Sandburg groaned. "You're not so bad yourself." 

Three Chopec hunters dropped from the trees in front of them. Sandburg startled, but immediately settled under the easy pressure of Ellison's hands on his shoulders. 

Ellison stepped out from behind Sandburg. "Intapu," he said, and spoke in Quechua to the three men, gesturing at himself and Blair. One of the men laughed and grinned and hugged Jim heartily, slapping him on the back. Sandburg was surprised to see Jim smile and hug and slap in return. 

He turned to look at Sandburg, still smiling easily. "Chief, this is Intapu. I haven't seen him since he was still a kid. These are Qisa and Aqilu, who was your messenger." Sandburg waved and smiled and said, "thanks. Great to meet you." Oh wow, he thought, this is so cool. 

* * *

The entire village was gathered under the palm-leaf roof of the chief's shelter, nudging and giggling and whispering and pushing for a better view of Blair of the Jungle, who stood front and center before them all and felt like a total fool. Jim was no help; he'd immediately gone native. In fact, Sandburg was almost a little envious of how easily Ellison had made himself at home. Almost. 

The two of them had been escorted through the village and into the mens' house before Sandburg had gotten a good look around. Then there had been the local version of the Barbie makeover as he and Jim were given Chopec loincloths and body paint. Jim accepted it casually, greeting old friends and chatting over fingers full of cassava while broad swaths of red and black were striped across his face and beads and feathers were strung into Sandburg's hair. The Chopec loved Sandburg's nipple ring and made him hang the wolf's tooth from the message bundle from it. None of the shelters had walls, and women and children would often "casually" stroll by and try to catch a glimpse of them. Sandburg smiled at two young girls and they shrieked and giggled and ran. 

Ellison walked over to him. "Ignore them, Chief," he said in English, putting his hand on Sandburg's shoulder. "You shouldn't be smiling at the unmarried girls." 

Sandburg nodded. "Right, of course, social tabus. There's no physical privacy so you need social privacy. Jim," he babbled, "thank you so much for doing this. This is all " He stopped short as Jim held up his hand and rolled his eyes. 

The men laughed and one of them pointed at him and said something that made the others laugh again. Blair thought he could catch at least one word, the word for "shaman." Well, he thought, at least it's not "moron." Though what the Quechua word for moron was, he wouldn't be able to tell. 

Whatever the word was, that was what he felt like. He didn't know how he was supposed to avoid looking at inappropriate people when everyone in the entire village was nudging and giggling and whispering and pushing for a better view of Blair of the Jungle. He decided to ignore everyone and keep looking at Jungle Jim, who was having some sort of discussion with the chief. One of the tribesmen stood up and spoke for a minute. Jim replied something, the chief said something, and Sandburg said, "What do they say? What are they talking about?" 

"We're deciding who's going to adopt you," Jim explained briefly, then turned back to his conversation. After some more minutes of negotiation and comment by various people, it seemed some kind of consensus was reached and then he was surrounded by people, hugging him and slapping him on the back. He smiled and nodded and hugged back and said, "Thanks. Hi! Thank you. Jim!" he called. "What am I thanking them for?" 

Ellison came over to him and laughed and introduced an older man and woman. "Sandburg, meet your mother and father. This is Pato and Iaqu." He gave him a pointed look. "It's a big honor for them, and a big honor for you. Their family has high status." 

Sandburg nodded, he got it. He greeted his adoptive parents with a nod and a big grin. The woman, Iaqu, smiled back (Sandburg mentally noted that the social restrictions didn't seem to include relatives), nudged her husband Pato and handed him something. Pato threw his arms around Sandburg in a big hug, then released him and hung around Sandburg's neck the feathered claw necklace his wife had handed him. 

"Thank you!" Sandburg said. "Jim, how do I say thank you?" 

"Yusulpayki," Jim told him quietly, smiling. 

"Yusulpayki, yusulpayki," Everybody smiled at everybody. 

"Blair," Jim continued quietly, " you should give him something back." 

"Oh wow, what do I have?" He rummaged through what he had with him and came up with... his Swiss Army knife. He glanced a question at Ellison and received a nod. He put the knife into his father's hand (thinking, father! Wow, this is so cool!) and showed him the different blades and accessories. Pato grinned and hugged him again and Sandburg said "yusulpayki" again and again and glanced another question at Ellison and, receiving a shrug in reply, hugged his adoptive mother, too. She laughed. 

Then everybody started drinking. Cassava beer, thin, watery, not too tasty and not too potent, so you had to drink gallons of it, which nobody seemed to mind. There was dancing too, mostly by the men, including Sandburg and even Ellison and Sandburg wasn't even surprised at that anymore. One of the dances was a kicking chain dance and Sandburg found himself dancing around the village singing "Hava Negilah" and when a couple of Chopec caught the words and joined in, he thought that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. 

Finally, Sandburg stumbled off in search of a likely looking tree. Intent on his goal, he kind of forgot that he'd have to find his way back when he was done. Then he realized that it was drunk, he was dark, and though he could hear the people and even see a flicker of fire, the forest between him and the village was one big drunk trap waiting to happen. 

"Having fun, Chief?" A pair of clear blue eyes glittered through the darkness. That's funny, Sandburg thought, I thought only animals' eyes did that. Ellison took a step towards him; his gaze looked so piercing because he was masked with a broad stripe of black paint across both his eyes, with slashes of red across both cheekbones. It's the Lone Fucking Ranger, thought Sandburg, just call me Tonto, and giggled. And hiccupped. 

Ellison tried to hide a smile (that's the Jim I know, thought Sandburg) and put his arm around Sandburg's shoulders. "Let's get you home, I think you've had enough," he said. 

"Where's home? The world is my home. You followed me, didn't you?" Sandburg babbled up at him, throwing his arm around the taller man's waist. "Yusulpayki, yusulpayki." 

"I saw you stagger away," Jim shrugged casually. "You were either going to piss or puke and either way who knows what you were going to step on or walk into." He steered them around the outskirts of the small village -- Sandburg occasionally breaking into a chain dance step -- and toward a small palm shelter out of sight of the village, but still within hearing. 

"What's this?" Sandburg asked. 

"Home," answered Jim simply. "Your home. I can sleep in the men's house." He pointed his thumb back over his shoulder. 

"Why can't I?" Sandburg wandered under the roof of the shelter and peered at the interior, which he really couldn't see much of. He picked up a basket and sniffed at the contents. "What is all this stuff?" 

Ellison hung around, not joining Sandburg under the shelter. "These are all Incacha's things. The tribe kept his belongings and when they sent you the message, they rebuilt his house for you. You're the shaman." 

Blair finally stood still. "Wow. Oh my god. Wow, this is all real." He saw Ellison's shadow outlined against the greater shadow of the forest. "Oh wow, Jim I mean not wow. This must be awful for you. I'm so sorry," and Sandburg went out to him and touched his arm. "I've been so floored by all of this, I should have remembered how you must be feeling." 

Jim's eyes met his, blue blazing out from the depths of black paint. "I feel good. I feel better than I have in years." He took a deep breath and exhaled. "Incacha nothing can bring him back. But it would be worse if his life's work and what he meant to the Chopec die with him. I can't think of anyone better to be his successor than you." 

"I'm not Chopec." 

"Neither am I," Ellison said. "And Incacha was my guide. And you're my guide." 

"And he lived here... on the periphery of the tribe... With the Sentinel! Incacha lived here with you!" Jim shrugged, nodded. Sandburg continued, "Then you have to stay here with me!" He took hold of Jim's arm and pulled him under the shelter's roof. "Why not? What's the matter?" 

"Nothing." 

"Bullshit!" 

"You're drunk." 

"Oooh, you must have Sentinel senses," Blair teased. "Come on, Jim, sit down." He plunked himself on the ground. 

"Enqueri." 

"What?" 

"That's my Chopec name. Enqueri." He sat down next to Sandburg. "Listen, Chief..." 

"What's my Chopec name?" 

"Asikatuq." 

"So, Enqueri, what's the matter?" Sandburg urged. 

Slowly, Ellison said, "When we were deciding who was going to adopt you, they first asked if I wanted you to be my brother. I said no." Ellison looked closely at him. "You're my guide, it wouldn't be ... appropriate if you were my brother. Understand?" 

Sandburg nodded. "Another tabu too close a relationship. It would be like incest or something ... oh." He looked away into the shadows. "Oh. wow." It was dark, he was drunk, he knew Jim could sense the heat in his face that was a blush under the paint. Sandburg could only see the shadowy profile of Ellison's face, studiously avoiding his eyes, but somehow, even with Sandburg- not-Sentinel senses he could tell that Jim was almost blushing too. Almost. 

Ellison cleared his throat and continued. "They asked if you wanted a wife. I told them I didn't know." 

"Oh." Oh was good. Better than wow. 

Jim turned to face him again. "It's a completely appropriate relationship." 

Sandburg quickly nodded and shook his head and waved his arms and nodded again. "I understand completely, of course I do completely culturally determined -- it's totally cool with me, I had no idea you and Incacha..." he waved his arms again, looking for words, "... were together like that." 

"The Chopec don't draw that kind of line the way we do." 

"What's with the _we_ , white man?" Sandburg blurted. 

"You're a shaman," Jim cut him off and totally, typically missed the joke, which in a way was a hell of a relief for Sandburg, who was beginning to wonder when the aliens had secretly switched Sentinels on him. "The rules are different for you," continued Ellison. "You're expected to do things differently from other people to wander between rules..." 

His turn to cut Jim off: "Ritual transgression, absolutely. I understand," Sandburg babbled, and started counting off on his fingers. "Like the Backwards Society of the Sioux, the Trickster cults, Loki, the Hanged Man. Wisdom and magic from living on the opposite perspective of society hell, even Merlin in T.H. White lived backwards, he remembered things that were going to happen before they happened" He flung up his hands. "Oh, fuck it," he said, and threw his arms around Jim Ellison and kissed him sloppily on the mouth, with tongue and everything. And Jim Ellison kissed him back. Oh. Wow. 

Coming up for air, Sandburg gasped, "... a perfectly appropriate relationship. Yusulpayki, yusulpayki..." 

Jim nodded, nuzzling into his neck. "Asikatuq..." he whispered. 

Sandburg took Ellison's face between his two hands and forced their eyes to meet. "Enqueri," he said softly, "how do I say I love you?" 

Jim caught his breath and closed his eyes. He whispered, "Munakuyki." 

"How do I say I've been waiting for you?" 

Whispered, "Qanpaq suyasqa'y." Took his Guide in his arms and crushed him, kissed him breathless, heard his heart beating and felt it beat in his own chest. Smelled his sweat and paint and good rich dirt on his body and the beetle crawling across his scalp. Caressed his Guide's tongue with his own, stroking the agile muscle, tasting salty saliva and metallic fillings and a bit of blood (should get more Vitamin C) and then he broke the kiss. 

His Guide clutched him and stared at him, a tangled mass of hair framing wild eyes masked by red lightning bolts, black paint smeared across his grinning, shocked mouth. "Who are you," croaked the Guide, "and what have you done with James Ellison?" 

"Enquerimi sutiy," the Sentinel said, stroking his guide's chest as they lay back together on the ground. "Asikatuq sutiyki. Me Tarzan," he continued in English, laughing quietly, "you Chief. When was the last time you slept two in a hammock?" 

Asikatuq rolled Enqueri onto his back and crawled on top of him, snuggling into his chest. "Who's going to sleep?" he inquired, lips murmuring a breath away from his Sentinel's nipple. 

Enqueri groaned and sat them both up, twisting the smaller man above him so Asikatuq was sitting in his lap and attempting stoically to ignore the effect such a maneuver had on his hardening dick under the thin loincloth. "Asikatuq, tomorrow you're undergoing a serious mystical ordeal..." he said as they both stood up the Sentinel a little stiffly and the Guide a bit unsteadily. 

Asikatuq, exhausted, intoxicated but no fool, caught on immediately. "You mean _abstinence_? You can't after Oh, you're shitting me!" 

Enqueri nodded glumly. "It would be..." 

"Inappropriate," Asikatuq moaned. "You bastard." 

Enqueri picked his Guide up and tossed him into the wide hammock, which immediately started swinging in a way that made the drunken shaman feel like he was going to do something dangerously inappropriate himself and not in a good way. He moaned, "You bastard." 

Enqueri caught the hammock. "Sorry." He knelt beside his Guide. "Sorry," he whispered again. "I wasn't going to mention any of this until after." He reached out and stroked Asikatuq's hair out of his eyes. 

" 'S'okay," Asikatuq mumbled sleepily. "Where are you going? Get over here." He grabbed the back of Enqueri's neck. 

"You sure? I could leave you alone, sleep in the men's house, I didn't mean to " 

"What, be a cocktease?" the shaman laughed. "You're my Sentinel. You're going to leave me alone all night in the middle of the jungle? Talk about inappropriate!" 

Defeated by that kind of logic, pretty damn tired and a bit drunk himself, Enqueri slipped into the hammock behind his Guide so sweetly that the hammock hardly stirred. He curled around Asikatuq's back and the hammock curled around both of them, tucking the two men together. 

On the edge of sleep, the Sentinel heard a barely voiced whisper: "How do I say I love you?" 

He whispered, "Munakuyki." 

Heard whispered, "Yusulpayki, yusulpayki, Enqueri." 

"No problem, Chief," Jim Ellison mumbled into Blair Sandburg's hair. "Besides, what if you need to take another piss?" And smiling, pillowed on his Guide's matted hair, fell asleep. 

  * to be continued --------




	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blair undergoes his initiation as a Chopec shaman.  
> Archived on 11/19/99

## The Rules Of Attraction Part Two

by [spiderine](mailto:spiderine@att.net)  


* * *

The Rules of Attraction  
Part 2 

Disclaimer: Characters from "The Sentinel" series belong to Pet Fly. My imagination belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended; passion is its own reward. 

Notes: 1) This story takes place at some undetermined time in the third season, after "Warriors" but before "Sentinel Too". It is part 2 of an ongoing work. 2) My apologies to any Quechua speakers for mangling such a beautifully expressive language. I'm trying my best. 3) It's all Nikolaia's fault. 

* * *

Definitely like defending a dissertation, Sandburg thought. In another language. After getting trashed the night before. With that surreal feeling a hangover gives sometimes, intensified exponentially by the fact that he was indeed standing in the middle of the Peruvian rainforest covered in not much besides paint. Sandburg wasn't uncomfortable in his body or anything, but this was like that dream he'd read about but never had, where you're standing in the corridor of your junior high and suddenly realize it's finals day and not only are you unprepared, but stark staring naked as well. 

Then why was it so hard to keep from laughing? 

* * *

Woke up before dawn totally tangled and wrinkled in the rope hammock against the warmth of a muscular, steadily breathing body. He tried to remain absolutely quiet. Part of him braced for the worst and started preparing a "God was I drunk last night" speech, but most of him was curled around Jim Ellison's body and just feeling him breathe. Feeling his heart beat. Jim could hear Sandburg's heart any time he wanted, but this was the first time Blair had ever been close enough to Ellison's resting body to hear his. If nothing else ever happened, then at least this had. 

"Hey." 

He looked up into Ellison's face and tried to read his expression. "Hi." It was useless; Jim wore the same expression he usually wore, teetering on the line between just possibly going to be amused and just possibly going to break your nose. Compounded seriously by just woken up. And a major case of morning-after-slept-in-makeup face. 

And god only knew what a Sentinel hangover felt like. Blair felt an immediate pang of concern. "How's your head?" he asked softly. 

"How's yours?" was the equally soft reply. "I didn't drink half as much as some people I know who aren't used to the stuff in the first place." 

Blair took a deep breath and prepared to start in on The Speech if he had to, but Ellison continued, "C'mere, Chief." 

Sandburg tried to inch his way up Ellison's body. "Aaah! Shit!' he hissed. His hair was trapped under Ellison and twisted into the hammock ropes. He squirmed and poked Ellison in the side and Ellison laughed and moved over until Blair could get himself untangled. 

Sandburg squirmed his way up the ropes until he was eye to eye with Ellison. "I have to piss," he announced solemnly. He was rewarded with one of Ellison's little twitch grins and knew he was in the free and clear, so he went for broke and pecked a little kiss on his nose. 

"So?" Jim said casually. "It's almost light. You should do fine." 

Sandburg groaned and flopped over on his back theatrically. "You are such an asshole," he laughed. 

"Yup," Ellison said smugly, put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes again. 

When Blair got back he discovered that it was impossible to climb stealthily into a hammock and ended up rolling in right on top of Ellison, who was awake anyway, of course Sandburg would lay money on Jim's keeping an ear on him while he was away. Hell, Sandburg would lay money on Jim's knowing exactly which tree he had used. 

Sandburg propped himself up on his elbows and asked, "So what's on for today, Tarzan?" 

"Bath first," grunted Jungle Jim behind closed eyes. 

"Bath! Yes! And food!" agreed Sandburg enthusiastically. "Now?" 

"Not now. Sleep more now." 

"I'm awake!" 

"You're insane." 

"But " 

"Everyone's still asleep, Chief," Ellison insisted, then paused. "No," he continued, sighing, "Intuli's awake with the baby. Go back to sleep, Sandburg. The day will start soon enough." 

Sandburg looked at the face of the man who was sprawled beneath him like a terrain feature. He slowly started inching backwards down Ellison' body, rubbing his cheek against a smooth chest and impossibly vulnerable-looking nipples. Jim grunted, but didn't move, so Sandburg applied a little tongue, slow flat ice-cream licks across their points, one after the other and back again. Tangled, leaf-scented hair brushed lazily like a shadow across Jim's chest. Ellison moaned. 

Ellison moaned. Just a little hint of breath escaping against his will as Jim rolled his head and tried to move, but hearing that tiny loss of control sent a lightning bolt down Sandburg's spine and stiffened his cock in seconds. He slipped one hand down between Ellison's legs and ran a finger up the erection that had slipped from Jim's loincloth. 

Jim's hand clamped down on his wrist. He pulled Sandburg's hand up to his face and kissed it, then reached under Sandburg's armpit and dragged him up the hammock until the two men were face to face. 

Holding Sandburg's hand in his, Ellison said, "When it's right. Not before." 

Sandburg replied, "I can do that." 

"Go to sleep." 

"No." 

"No?" Jim rolled them both onto their sides, facing each other. 

"No," Blair smiled, and stroked his Sentinel's shoulder. "I'll be good, I promise. But the day is breaking, and what wouldn't I give to see the sunrise through your eyes?" 

There was a moment when Jim just stared at him. Then he kissed Sandburg for long, long moments. Then he smiled and said, "Let's go swimming." 

* * *

By the time they returned, after watching the sun come up from a ridge high over the river and then clambering down the slippery rocks to the cold, clear water below, the village was awake. Women were setting out pots of food and starting in on the eternal task of pounding and preparing cassava. Men climbed lazily from hammocks to gather and chat about hunting prospects and how so-and-so was never going to hit anything if he kept on tying his arrow flights like that. The kids were already shrieking and tearing around the clearing like a flock of unruly birds. Intuli walked slowly back and forth, looking as exhausted as any new mother the world over, trying to soothe a first, colicky baby who steadfastly howled and refused all attempts at comfort. A tiny world, sheltered by a vast green canopy that only seemed endless, timeless, in reality hanging only by the most delicate thread that could be severed at any moment by any number of far-away interests who had absolutely no idea what a precious treasure they'd be crushing forever. Or worse, who knew and didn't care. 

Sandburg felt his heart wrench. He took Jim's hand in his he'd already noted the ease of physical affection among these people, how Chopec warriors were perfectly comfortable hugging and holding hands with male friends who they'd never dream of having intimate relations with. 

Jim squeezed his hand; he seemed to know what Blair was feeling could probably feel it in his pulse. Ellison smiled at his Guide, whose hair was dripping down his back and who still had traces of yesterday's paint crusted in the corners of his eyes and around his hairline, and said, "Breakfast?" 

"Oh yeah!" agreed Sandburg, snapping instantly from a melancholy meditating anthropologist into a hungry Breakfast-Seeking Blair. Which was probably Ellison's intention in the first place. 

They ate with Sandburg's adoptive family. They really had no choice; his adoptive mother spotted them and called them over and scolded them so soundly for swimming before breakfast that Sandburg needed no translation whatsoever. She passed out bowls of mashed sweet potatoes and fish broth (bland to Sandburg's taste, but quite good), pulled out something with an amazing resemblance to an Afro pick and started working her way through Sandburg's tangled hair, scolding without cease. Ellison kept a straight face and his eyes on his meal as he translated Iaqu's hyperbolically reiterated shame at having a son who'd let himself be seen walking around like that not to mention almost naked, which Ellison interpreted as having to do with two grown men walking around with unpainted bodies like kids. From his hammock, Pato grumbled something. 

Ellison stifled a chuckle. "Your father's pissed at me for not taking care of you. He's quoting an old saying, that a man who doesn't have a friend to paint his face has no friends at all." 

Sandburg smiled. "You know, the ancient Greeks used to say the same thing, more or less. That a man who relied on slaves to wash his back was a man with no friends." He scooped out the last of his potatoes and raised the bowl to his mouth, slurping up the broth. His mom smiled at him with pride. Then he showed her his emptied bowl and batted his eyelashes beseechingly at her, wordlessly asking for seconds. He was surprised to see her frown and grumble as she refilled his bowl. He turned to Jim with a pointed look that asked, What did I do wrong now? 

Jim held up one finger: Watch. He placed his empty bowl on the ground and just happened to push it slightly in Iaqu's direction, while oh so nonchalantly glancing in an entirely different direction that had absolutely nothing to do with what was going on in front of him. Sandburg's mom seemed delighted that an empty bowl had magically materialized in front of her and happily filled it, almost accidentally pushing it back toward Ellison. Ellison picked up the bowl and started eating without acknowledging that a single thing had happened, while saying softly to Blair (everyone else pretending that they didn't hear a thing), "See, if you ask for seconds, she's insulted because she thinks she didn't give you enough in the first place." Blair scribbled that down on his mental note pad. 

After breakfast, Pato painted their faces, grumping the entire time. Ellison respectfully assured Blair's father that no, sir, he wouldn't let it happen again. Sandburg goggled, happily watching his stoic Sentinel behave like the model of the perfect son-in-law. Then everyone casually parted ways; they were the only ones without places to go, people to see, work to do. 

Jim stretched as they walked across the clearing. "I figure we'll take a hike down the ridge " 

"Hey, cool, look at that!" Blair veered off to one side to where a boy was feeding bits of fruit to a small monkey. He squatted next to the kid and the monkey hopped up on his shoulder as Ellison strolled up next to him and said, "I suppose that would be another of your relatives, Sandburg." 

Blair ignored him and smiled at the boy. "Jim, do you know this kid's name?" 

"Kipu." 

"Hi, Kipu!" Sandburg grinned. "Is this your monkey?" 

Kipu said, with Jim translating, that yes, it was, his uncle caught it for him. Sandburg sat there and chatted with him for a while as they both played with the monkey and Sandburg joked with him and asked all kinds of questions about what the monkey liked to eat and where it came from. Kipu answered all his questions with the patient condescension of any child talking to the silliest, most ignorant adult he'd ever met. He even bothered to tell Blair the story which even babies knew about how the monkey got to be that color when he climbed the tallest tree in the world and singed his tail on the sun. 

When Sandburg saw that Jim was losing patience with what he obviously considered childish bullshit, the two men wandered off. He put his arm around the taller man's waist. "What do you want to do now?" 

"Well, we don't want to go too far off because later in the afternoon when it isn't so hot out you've got you know, the whole shaman thing." 

"Right, right." 

"So I figure we could just hike " 

"Listen," Blair cut him off. "Would you mind very much if I grabbed my notebook out of my pack and wrote some stuff down while I've still got it fresh in my mind?" 

Ellison seemed a touch taken aback, but said, "No, of course not." And by the time they got to their shelter and Sandburg pulled out his pack, Ellison admitted apologetically, "Actually, if you didn't mind, Qisa's got this spear, and he can't figure out why it's weighted so badly, it's a perfectly good piece of wood. I think there's a burl or something inside it, maybe if we shaved it down or " 

"Aah, go talk shop," Sandburg laughed, as he dug through his pack and its contents erupted all over the ground around him. Sitting himself cross-legged on a mat, he put on his glasses and started opening books. 

"Sandburg!" Ellison practically yelled. "You brought _books_?" 

"Yeah, of course." Sandburg looked up at him, a shaggy-haired shaman in face paint and wire-rimmed glasses. 

"There must be 40 pounds of paper in there! You trekked all that shit in?" 

"Well, the library fairy certainly didn't drop them off." He pulled out a pen and a notebook. 

Ellison blustered, unable to find words. Sandburg held up his palm and said calmly, "Look. Did you have to carry any of it? Did I say one single word about it?" 

"Well, no..." 

"Then it's none of your damn business what I choose to pack in, is it? Is it?" 

"Well..." 

"Go on," said Sandburg, turning back to his books and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with the tip of his pen. "Go play. Have fun storming the castle. I'll be here if you need me." 

And there was nothing Ellison could say to that, so he left his Guide, who was already scribbling furiously. 

When Ellison got back hours later, he found Sandburg curled up fast asleep on the mat with his glasses still on and his mouth hanging open. He had made himself entirely at home, with books and papers littered everywhere. Jim quietly circled the shelter picking up every last one, carefully keeping Sandburg's places marked in the open books and making sure the papers were in order. He gently removed Blair's glasses and placed them on top of the pile, then picked him up and put him in the slowly rocking hammock before slipping in behind him. 

* * *

"So there was this guy, see, and he'd been a pirate during a big war, and he was trying to get home..." 

When in doubt, go for the classics. And Sandburg was nothing if not in doubt. He'd started by trying to charm them, joke around, break the ice. That didn't fly at all. 

This was a tough crowd. The elders from this village he'd already met the chief, his uncle, and some sort of cousin of the uncle's wife. After hugging and drinking with them the night before, it was a bit unnerving for Sandburg to see them being so solemn and formal. But it was the other old guy who was going to be a problem, Blair thought. He'd been introduced as a shaman from a tribe across the mountain who'd come here especially to give Sandburg the once-over, since this village had no shaman of its own. How the shaman had gotten here, Sandburg didn't know he seemed like nothing but a toothless old collection of wiry brown muscle. And he seemed to take particular pleasure in making Sandburg sweat. The monkey routine hadn't worked; no matter how naive and cutely unthreatening he acted, he wasn't getting any go. The village elders briefly answered a question or two, but basically everyone seemed to be waiting on him to make the next move. And the old shaman just sat there grinning, eating seeds and spitting shells occasionally aiming them at Sandburg. Which was just plain rude. 

"Help me out here, Jim," he pleaded to Ellison, who was squatting off to one side as translator, almost but not quite outside Sandburg's field of vision. 

"Don't ask me, Chief, I'm clueless," Ellison shrugged. The old shaman yelled something at Ellison, who shook his head sheepishly at Ellison sorry, Chief and from then on kept his eyes on the ground. 

The shaman grinned and spat a seed shell at Ellison, who flinched. The old man's eyes twinkled. 

Then Sandburg got it. He was preaching to the choir here. The tribal elders were just a smoke screen; it was the old shaman who was running the show. And Sandburg was suddenly 100% sure that this guy was a trickster of the first degree. He hadn't always been an old coot at some time in the past he must have been a wild young guy with an attitude, and now he was looking at this skinny little gringo twit of a Sandburg and thinking, been there done that, kid. Show me what you got. 

Sandburg switched gears and thought, Dissertation, right. He wants to know that you've done your homework, that you can thoroughly interpret the material, that you can make an original contribution to the field. 

So he took a deep breath and started talking shop, talking about the different indigenous cultures he'd studied, scrupulously avoiding sounding like he thought of the Chopec as specimens. He talked about the deep regard he felt for Chopec society, as well as the other peoples he'd lived with. He brought in all the references he could think of off the top of his head, he talked incessantly and caught a glimpse of Jim's boggled expression as he tried to keep up and translate Sandburg's rapid-fire delivery of quotes from Levi-Strauss, "The Golden Bough", scholars and philosophers Ellison had never heard of, whose names he could barely pronounce and who used vocabularies that were out of Jim's league in English, let alone Quechua. 

Sandburg couldn't stifle a nervous laugh at the sight. Then he coughed he'd talked himself dry. The shaman cackled at him and passed him a cup of tea. It was redolent of coffee grounds and mouse droppings, but Sandburg slurped it down. 

"Yummy," he grimaced, which was a big mistake, as the shaman grinned and refilled his cup and watched as Sandburg downed that one too. And waited some more. 

So Blair started telling stories. Everybody loves stories, shamen are supposed to be consummate storytellers, he wanted the old man to see that not only could he give a good performance (assuming Ellison could translate the timing and delivery) but that he understood the deeper meanings within the tales. He started with, "There were these two guys who walked into a bar..." worked through, "There were these two guys from Verona..." and now had progressed to, "There was this guy who was a pirate..." When in doubt, go for the classics. Homer had been wowing them for 3000 years, no reason to think he'd fail Sandburg now. 

But for some reason it was getting really hard to keep from laughing. He tried to think of every remedy he'd ever heard of for nervousness in public speaking a malady he'd never suffered before. Shit, he couldn't even do what everybody always said and imagine these guys in their underwear because they _were_ in their underwear, nobody in the shelter was wearing more than a loincloth. The old shaman suddenly bore an uncanny resemblance to Blair's third grade teacher, Mr. Hassoll how could have Sandburg not noticed that before? when Blair had come back to class after a week of absence (Naomi had dragged him off somewhere where? Oh, fuck it, don't worry about that now) and was informed that the class had been taught long division while he'd been gone and now Blair would have to make it up on his own. Shit, he still couldn't do long division, he needed a calculator for even the most simple 

Fuck, get it together. He was trying not to laugh, he was starting to sweat, he was drowning, he was dying here, he had dragged Jim to the other side of the earth for nothing and was going to fall flat on his face, an ignominious failure... 

Sandburg tried to keep himself from hyperventilating. Jim kept glancing his way in flashes of concern. Someone passed him another cup of mouse-shit tea and he sucked it down. Got his breathing under control. Resorted to the last refuge of the desperate man the truth. 

He started talking about Naomi, about not having a father, moving around all the time, feeling different from everyone else from the moment he first imagined the concept. Talked about coming to Rainier, living in the library, drunk on books and people and the life of the mind. He talked about meeting Jim, working with him on the PD fuck it, about falling in love with him, learning to love him, learning to love the people the Chopec who mattered to Jim more than anything else on earth. How he desperately wanted to be worthy of the trust that Jim and his people had placed in him. Ran out of talk, out of breath, out of hope. Stopped talking, stood there, gulping breath, head pounding, giggling like a maniac. 

The old trickster shaman laughed and Sandburg's head snapped up to meet his eyes. The shaman cackled something that even Sandburg could translate loosely as, "About fucking time, boy." Then the old man took a deep slurp of cassava beer and spat, spraying it all over Sandburg. 

Sandburg was absolutely staggered. Then the other elders started laughing and took slurps and spat them all over him, and he reeled a few steps back and turned toward a laughing, relieved Ellison, who stood up and said, "Congratulations, Dr. Sandburg. You passed. They're..." he waved his arms, trying to explain. "They're pouring champagne over your head." 

Sandburg burst out laughing and grabbed a bowl of beer. He took a long slurp and fuck it sprayed it all over Ellison. The trickster shaman laughed heartily and Sandburg felt a weight lift from his chest he was right, this was one old guy who could definitely appreciate a joke. So Sandburg took another slurp and spat it all over him. Then everyone started whooping and hollering and spitting at each other, and out came more beer and they stopped spitting and started drinking seriously. Sandburg grabbed Jim and spun him around in a circle, laughing like a lunatic, but the elders parted the two men and started dancing around with Sandburg. They had these sticks that they all knocked out dance rhythms with, and there were bits of food and drink passed around and nobody was taking no for an answer so Sandburg had to try them all. Jim retreated to the corner of the shelter, in the shadows. He wasn't going anywhere no way would he leave his nutcase Guide alone but this wasn't his party, and he knew it. 

Some time into the festivities, it was getting to be evening now, the shaman and the elders brought out some kind of paint set and started painting designs on Blair's chest. This was so cool! The trickster shaman drew a beautiful stylized wolf's paw and claws over Sandburg's left pectoral, working around his nipple and the canine tooth dangling from its ring. Then the old men encouraged Sandburg to lie back on a mat and the shaman brought out this thing that looked like a thorn or a tooth attached to a long stick, and hey, wait a minute! smacked the thorn down into Sandburg's chest and started tapping on it with another hefty stick, following the line of the ink. It hurt like shit he had not signed up for this this was _not_ on the syllabus! He yelled and tried to sit up, but the elders, fucking _strong_ they were for a bunch of old guys, held him down as the shaman picked up a nasty looking knife and plunged it into Sandburg's flesh. He screamed. And screamed and screamed as the shaman worked on him and the elders held him down and tried to cover his eyes and stuff things in his mouth to keep him quiet. There was blood everywhere and he twisted and shrieked until something suddenly _snapped_ \-- 

and he was standing next to the mat, perfectly calm, looking down at the writhing, screeching Sandburg being restrained on the mat as a leathery brown old man carved designs into his bloody body. Poor asshole, he thought. Something furry bumped its head against his leg and he reached down and petted the head of the huge gray wolf that whined at him and licked his fingers. The suffering Sandburg on the mat looked up at him urgently, and all he could do was smile at him and scratch the wolf behind the ears and say, "Don't worry, man. What's the problem? It's all cool..." and then he looked around and saw Jim struggling and bellowing at the two warriors who had suddenly appeared and were trying to restrain the outraged Sentinel, refusing to let him near the thrashing body of his Guide, trying to soothe him and ease him out of the shelter and that was definitely _not_ an option, who said they could separate him from his Sentinel? He launched toward the warriors, snarling, "Get your fucking hands off him, you assholes!" but before he could move two steps something _snapped_ \-- 

and he was back in his body in a magnitude of hurt he'd never thought possible before, screaming at the top of his lungs as he heard Ellison being dragged out of the shelter: "No! Jim! Jim! No! Enqueri! Enqueri!" 

* * *

The next thing he could remember, he was on his hands and knees in the middle of the forest in the dark, alone, heaving his guts up onto the mulchy ground. Trying to keep his hair out of the mess. Wondering how the fuck he'd gotten here, and what he was supposed to be doing - and heaving again and again until the heaves were dry. 

Sandburg struggled to his feet, gulping deep open-mouthed breaths and wiping his teary eyes. He leaned over, supported his hands on his knees, and let his head hang. He had to get his shit together. He had to remember for the rest of his life not to get carried away with partying in an unfamiliar environment. He had to find Enqueri. That was it -- he had to find Enqueri, who probably wasn't that far away, who should be here with him now, who had never ever once failed to pull his ass out of the fire. 

He stood, picked a direction at random and staggered off. The forest was pitch fucking black but for some reason it didn't seem to matter; he could see every leaf, twig and stone shining against the night. Glowing a dim phosphorescent blue like creatures from the bottom of the sea. Blair held his own hand up and waved it in front of him. Trails. He was tripping his face off. 

Okay, he smiled to himself -- at least this was semi-familiar territory, if ever such a thing could be. His pupils would be dilated excessively, so that's why he could see. He had just purged the physical remains of whatever it was he'd ingested, so he would stop feeling sick soon, and the rest was probably going to be one hell of a ride whether he wanted it or not, so the best thing to do was relax and go along with it. While he didn't put it past the trickster shaman to slip him something that would get him seriously fucked up if he couldn't handle it, he'd trust the old man down to his toes not to kill him on purpose. And while hallucinations would most definitely be on the menu for the evening, Sandburg knew that for now at least his mind and his body were securely anchored together \-- because in all his first-, second- and third-hand research on this subject, he'd never heard of anyone astrally puking before. So, cool \-- he was intact and he knew what was going on -- he probably had one up on anybody else the old shaman had ever pulled this trick on. He grinned to himself. Let's hear it for a misspent youth. 

Now to find Jim. The key was not to panic. What would Doc Savage do? 

Blair of the Jungle stood still and tried to get a fix on his surroundings. He tried to be _there_ , the way Jim would, catching every possible sight and scent and sound. The night was breezy and as quiet as a rainforest ever got. Things scurried in the underbrush, birds, bugs and frogs were piping away, some insomniac monkey was hooting in the top of a tree somewhere. No, that wasn't a hoot -- that was a howl. 

If he were sober, the idea of being alone in the jungle with a wolf out there somewhere would most likely have made him piss his pants. But he wasn't sober, and he wasn't wearing pants. He strode off confidently in the direction of the howl. 

He found he could move easily through the jungle if he didn't try to fight it, and soon was snaking his way through the brush, twisting past vines, over fallen logs, under low-hanging branches. It was a glorious night. Small animals scuttled away as he passed, and the blinking yellow eyes just filled him with amused affection: Don't worry, little ones, you're safe from me. He stumbled as he passed a tree and grabbed a vine to steady himself, and was amazed as the tree erupted into flight -- the shadowy leaf-shapes covering it resolving into a tremendous flock of bats startling and wheeling at his disturbance of their home. He stood and watched them swoop and circle against the upper canopy and glimpses of spectacular starry sky, and was overcome by absolute wonder. He could feel the night on his skin; he could smell life all around him breathing, growing, dying and returning to earth. The entire way of things was right there in front of him, and for the life of him he couldn't imagine why anyone could ever be afraid of it. For the first time he could recall -- even if he never found his way back and died right there \-- he was absolutely, perfectly, physically content. 

A jaguar's shriek broke the night like the sound of a baby screaming. He turned willingly, ready to face it and embrace it even if it meant his death. And there was Jim. 

Jim was there, reclining at his ease on the forest floor, leaning back against the glossy heaving side of the largest black panther Sandburg had ever seen in all his years of watching the Discovery Channel. The cat's tail switched lazily into Jim's mildly amused face; it shook its head and snarled. Jim was smiling at him. 

Sandburg blinked a couple of times and the panther resolved into a massive fallen tree trunk, its tail merely a hanging vine. But Jim was still there, still smiling. 

"Dude!" said Sandburg. "Where have you been?" 

Ellison stood up. "The elders kicked me out," he answered. "You didn't need me anymore." 

Blair of the Jungle was gone in the flick of an eye, and Sandburg stumbled forward. "Of course I need you!" he insisted. "Always need you!" He half-fell against his Sentinel's chest and threw his arms around his neck. "You should stay with me." 

Ellison's arms wrapped around his Guide and his chin nuzzled the top of his head. "I wanted to," he said softly. "They had to toss me out on my ass. Do you think it was easy for me to watch what they were doing to you?" His hand barely brushed Sandburg's left pectoral where -- Blair just noticed -- the pattern of scars and tattooing was still terrifically sore and starting to scab. Ellison's hand came away smudged with brownish drying blood. "It was hard enough," he continued, looking at his bloody fingers, "hearing you scream from a mile away." 

Their eyes caught each other, and then their lips. Gently at first, then stronger with growing need. The two men swayed together for a moment, then Ellison broke the kiss and looked fondly down at his disheveled shaman. "You've been puking," he said. 

Sandburg clapped his hands over his mouth and stared in total embarrassment. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry!" he muffledly mumbled. 

Jim laughed out loud and hugged him close. "Don't sweat it. You're having a hell of a night." 

Sandburg laughed too and hugged back. "Tell me about it! I can't believe they let me wander off like that. What if I'd gotten in trouble? I can't even yell for help -- nobody would understand me." 

Ellison smiled and shook his head. "Asikatuq, you're speaking Quechua." 

"No!" 

Ellison nodded. "How do you say I love you?" 

"I love you," answered Blair. But that wasn't, he realized, what was coming out of his mouth. "Oh wow!" he immediately blurted in English. "That's so cool!" 

He and Ellison looked at each other for a moment and then Ellison smiled and Sandburg burst into laughter. When Sandburg finally caught his breath, a thought occurred to him. "So," he said, in Quechua (so cool!), "my trials are done, right?" He looked up at Jim enticingly (he hoped). 

"As far as I know," Jim replied, stifling a smile. 

"So, everything's right, right?" 

"As far as I know," Jim repeated. 

"So..." looking up into a pair of glittering blue eyes, he breathed, "now you have to fuck me." 

"Oh, I have to?" Ellison smiled. 

"Yes," Blair beamed up at him. 

Jim ran a hand up the side of Sandburg's jaw, across his temple, and into his hair. "You know, traditionally..." he said, "it would be you who..." he shrugged and trailed off. 

That's it, Sandburg thought. He was still tripping. He wheeled around and threw his arms up in the air. "Information overload!" he yelled in English. "Brain full, gotta go! Whooo!" He collapsed backward into Ellison's arms and against his chest, laughing hysterically. Looked backwards up at Ellison's upside-down, worried face and reached up to him. "Relax, beloved," he said in fluent Quechua. "I'm higher than a howler monkey in a tupalo tree, I couldn't get it up right now if you tied it to a stick. And I don't give a shit for what's appropriate. I love you. I'm the Guide. And I say I want you in me so bad I can taste it." 

Jim tossed his weight forward but caught him before he fell over, tumbling them both to the ground on their hands and knees. He climbed behind Blair, reached around him, and ran both his hands down his chest, right over the fresh tattoo. Blair screamed and something else screamed and something clamped down into his neck almost but not quite sharp enough to break skin, something wet and sharp and huffing hot great breaths out its nose next to Sandburg's ear. A huge, heavy dark paw was thrown across Sandburg's shoulder and he felt glossy hide against his back. 

No, no, no, Sandburg thought. No. He prayed desperately to the gods, the ancients, to his own roiling subconscious, little lysergic fairies boogying through his brain, to the Powers That Be. To Whom It May Concern: No bestiality hallucinations, please! Not unless they wanted to lose a half-decent student of the mysteries to total mental meltdown. He was a big boy, he got the message, he didn't need to be drawn stick figures. Sandburg focused every bit of what remained of his freaking, drug-shocked mind and concentrated like hell on the nameless concept that was the Big Cosmic Safeword. Jim grabbed him by the hair and reared them both up into a searing, back arching kiss as his other hand pulled down Sandburg's loincloth. Then they both fell forward and it was Jim's arm thrown over his shoulder and Jim's hand moving down behind him to probe him where he opened with something wet. Then it wasn't Jim's hand. But Sandburg's drug-shocked body blessedly decided that this was Just Another Experience and yielded easily to the pure scalding sensation of being filled. The weight of Jim's body covering his back rocked him and clenched over him and plunged into him relentlessly. Jim's mouth rummaged through his hair to lick and tease his ear with little grunts and groans and wordless murmurs. Jim's hand reached around below his waist to take charge of Sandburg's raging erection and where the hell had that come from? Come. Yes. Coming. God. Good. Great. Fuck. Yes. Yes. Oh. Wow. 

He was collapsed on his stomach on the forest floor and there was a leaf in his nose. Something licked his face, something larger, coarser and stronger than any human tongue. Sandburg didn't even open his eyes, but simply reached out and curled himself around into the animal's warm, glossy side. 

Woke up before dawn in his own hammock curled around his Sentinel's body like a liana vine around a tree trunk. Rolled his eyes at the frond ceiling and was an advanced enough student of the mysteries to thank the Blessed Universe that he'd survived the night. Enough of an anthropologist to think, This is so typical. And enough of a Sandburg to think, This is so fucking cool. 

\------------to be continued----------------------


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Blair undergoes his initiation as a Chopec shaman.  
> Archived on 11/19/99

## The Rules Of Attraction Part Three

by spiderine

* * *

The Rules of Attraction 

Part 3 

Disclaimer: Characters from "The Sentinel" series belong to Pet Fly. My imagination belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended; passion is its own reward. 

Notes: 1) This story takes place at some undetermined time in the third season, after "Warriors" but before "Sentinel Too". It is part 3 of an ongoing work. 2) My apologies to any Quechua speakers for mangling such a beautifully expressive language. I'm trying my best. 3) It's all Nikolaia's fault. 

* * *

Sandburg woke up before dawn in his own hammock curled around his Sentinel's body like a liana vine around a tree trunk. Rolled his eyes at the frond ceiling and was an advanced enough student of the mysteries to thank the Blessed Universe that he'd survived the night. Enough of an anthropologist to think, This is so typical. And enough of a Sandburg to think, This is so fucking cool. 

"Hey, Chief," Ellison mumbled from beside him. "How're you feeling?" 

A moment's mental inventory prompted the response, "I hurt. Everything hurts. My toenails hurt." He paused. "Sorry I woke you." 

"Forget it, let's take a look at you." Ellison rolled over to his side and had Sandburg sit up. Jim winced. Sandburg looked down at his body. He was a mess. The patterns put into his skin were red, inflamed and tender. Trails of dry blood smeared down his torso. Jim lightly touched his back, cursing under his breath, and Blair hissed. He tried to peer over his shoulder and asked, "What's back there?" He saw glimpses of long shallow gouges down his back cat scratches from hell. 

Jim vaulted out of the hammock, but caught it before it started swinging. He strode over to where his pack was stored in a corner. "A goddamn infection is what's back there. You're burning up, Chief." He pulled out his first aid kit and found a container of fresh water made from a gourd. Returning to the hammock, he made Sandburg take three aspirin and started tearing off strips of gauze. 

"Oh," Sandburg said absently. "That must be why I feel so weird." 

Ellison cursed some more. That was so typical coming from a guy who would break a trail through a jungle carrying 40 pounds of books might as well be carrying rocks! without a word, then bitch about a bug bite. Now he could feel fever heat waving off Sandburg's body and see see! right there! the germs and bugs and dirt practically eating his Guide alive, and all Sandburg could say was: my toenails hurt, I feel weird. He poured rubbing alcohol onto gauze and started wiping up the bloody, crusty mess. How could he have been so stupid not to have taken care of this last night? 

Sandburg groaned and flinched, saying groggily, "Ow. Watch it. I thought you said my trials were over." 

One of these days Sandburg was going to drive Ellison right out of his mind. "Chief," he exclaimed, "what the hell did you get into last night?" 

Sandburg looked up at him, and a smile of nervous fear flickered across his face. "Um," he answered quietly, "I think it was more what got into me...?" 

Jim groaned, fell to his knees beside the hammock and lay his head and arms on Sandburg's chest. Sandburg stroked Ellison's head and face gently. "Don't worry, man," he crooned, "What's the problem? It's all cool..." and stopped, shaking his head. Wait, where had he heard that before? Whatever. He continued, "Jim, it's all good, trust me. But I have to ask you one dumb question. I'm sorry, but... what do you remember from last night?" 

Ellison's eyes radiated pure anguish. "Everything," he whispered. 

Blair felt the slow momentum of the start of an avalanche of terror. "You know," he began The Speech, swallowing through a dry throat, "I was really wasted last night..." 

Ellison closed his eyes and hissed, "I love you. I hurt you. I let them... and then I..." 

The avalanche melted away like a warm rain. Sandburg murmured, "It was wonderful." Jim's eyes snapped open, pleading, and Sandburg smiled at him, nodding, "Yeah..." He stroked his Sentinel's head some more. "Come here. Lie down with me." 

Ellison clambered into the hammock and wrapped himself around Blair, who felt him shudder and caressed him, whispering "I love you" into his ear again and again until he settled and sighed. Then, "Look at me." 

Ellison looked at him, and Blair said, "Look at this tattoo. Isn't it beautiful?" 

" _Look_ at it? My god, it's all I can see!" Ellison exclaimed. "It's filthy, it's swimming with infection, I can't believe I let this happen " 

"Whoa, wait," said Sandburg. "Pull back. You're focused too tight. Pull back and look at the pattern." He reached down through the hammock ropes and retrieved the alcohol and gauze. With little hisses, he started dabbing himself with alcohol. "It's beautiful. Soon it'll be clean and it'll heal and it's so beautiful. I'll have it forever. And the scratches," Blair shrugged and smiled. "If I have them forever too, is that so bad?" 

"You'll look like you got into an accident at the zoo." 

Sandburg grinned. "Shit, half the under-40 population of the Pacific Northwest would kill for tribal markings like these. If anybody gets nosy, I'll just tell them I was in another really bad remake of 'Cat People'." 

Jim grabbed the alcohol and swabs and pushed Sandburg over on his side so Ellison could clean his back. "You are fucking insane," he grumbled. 

"That's an axiom," Blair replied calmly between winces. 

"I'll kick your fucking axiom." 

Sandburg rolled his eyes, turned over and put his arms around Jim's neck. "Just kiss me, okay?" 

They kissed sweetly, gently. Blair covered Ellison's face with tiny kisses and murmured, "Kiss me. Love me. Touch me. I don't want you to see me that way, I want my body to make you happy." 

Jim groaned and kissed him delicately, slipping his tongue into Sandburg's mouth, exploring gently. He mumbled something into his mouth all Sandburg could make out was "... happy... want..." Sandburg took his Sentinel into his arms and wrapped his legs around his waist. They rocked and embraced for long minutes. Blair let his tongue caress Ellison's, smoothly stroking, petting him the way his arms pet his head and his back, the way his legs stroked his muscular ass. Restful, just the thought of being so close. No separating them, ever again. The idea of being taken away from his Sentinel sent a jab of pain through his gut, far worse than anything any crazy old man could do with a knife. Why didn't Jim see that? It was so simple. 

Ellison reached down and ran his hand smoothly beneath Blair's balls, stroking the tender flesh of his perineum and massaging the puckered entrance to his body. Sandburg reached down and arched his back, pushing Jim's body, hand and face away. 

"Oh no," he said impishly into Ellison's ear. "This time we're doing it by the book." He rolled them both over and looked into Jim's concerned face, and had his own flash of worry. "Of course, I mean," he stammered, "if that's what you want..." 

Jim buried his face in the hair that tumbled around Blair's neck and nodded without looking at him, mumbling something that Sandburg again only caught the tail of: "... want..." Sandburg took his Sentinel's face between his hands and kissed him firmly, moved a hand down and grasped Jim's twitching cock it practically leapt into his hand. They both groaned at once, then Sandburg looked down and smiled and Jim's eyes opened and looked at him and Sandburg laughed softly. "Stay here," he said. 

He rolled out of the hammock (tiny wince as the ropes scraped his skin) and went over to where a collection of Incacha's things were stored. He hesitated, then picked up a small gourd container with a stopper. He opened it, sniffed the contents, brought it back to the hammock. "What's this?" he asked Ellison. 

The Sentinel sniffed. "Some kind of nut oil." 

"Bitchin'," said Sandburg, climbing back into the hammock. "We'll swim later." He ran his hands down Ellison's thighs and spread his legs apart, squirming between them and wrapping them around his waist. He fell forward into his Sentinel's embrace and kissed him deeply. "I love you," he whispered. "No one will ever separate you from me again, do you understand that?" He fumbled with the bottle of oil and clumsily tipped some into his hand. "Never," he insisted, reaching between Jim's legs and stroking up the cleft of his ass. He found Ellison's tight hole and rubbed it slowly, round and round, slowly pushing his oiled finger deeper. Blair breathed into his Sentinel's ear, "When they were marking me, I could hear them dragging you away. I could have killed them, I swear," he said fiercely. "I've never felt anything like that in my life." 

Jim moaned as his muscle eased and Sandburg's finger slid into him. Blair kept murmuring into his ear; Ellison could feel the warm breath soft on his face. Every word insisted he become more relaxed, more passive, open. "No one will ever take you from me again." Another of Sandburg's fingers entered his body, slowly plunging in and out, spreading him and demanding acceptance. Jim reached up over his head and grabbed the hammock ropes; he drew his legs up and spread them as wide as they would go, wrapping them around the ropes too. "Mine," Sandburg murmured, "mine, mine..." he breathed in Ellison's ear in time with the movements of his hand, a third finger stretching Ellison more than he thought he could bear. Ellison thrust his hips to meet Sandburg's hand, moaning openly; opened his eyes and looked wildly around until his gaze locked with Blair's, who smiled wickedly and held his hand still. Jim whimpered, licked his lips, pushed his hips forward, but Sandburg didn't move. He looked down at Ellison and whispered, "Are you mine?" 

Ellison moaned something incoherently, then closed his eyes and begged hoarsely, "Ari, allichu munaqi. Pusariway." Yes, please, beloved. Guide me. 

Sandburg looked down at the muscular body impaled on his hand. The warrior so impassive he couldn't express emotion with his eyes open, spreading his body wantonly and begging. The dangerous creature entrusted to his care for the sake of the tribe, the people they both loved. No, no stick figures necessary here. He was going to have to be a strong, strong Sandburg to handle this gig. But hey, what the hell else was he doing with the rest of his life? He tipped more oil into his other hand (the gourd bottle fell through the ropes to the mat below) and rubbed it over his hard-on, kneeling back, working his dick in the same rhythm as he worked his other hand into Jim's body. Jim's head rolled back and he let out low moans in time with Blair's insistent fingers, his eyes rolled back too and Blair saw them start to flicker like a sleeper going into REM... 

He maneuvered over Ellison and chuckled, half to himself, "Hell no, Tarzan, you're not zoning through this one." He swiftly slid his fingers from Jim's ass, mounted, and with one emphatic grunting thrust slid into him up to the balls. Jim cried out roughly. "Yeah," Sandburg exhaled. He drew back and lunged again, forward and sharply up. Jim moaned wildly and his eyes snapped open; his back arched and his hands gripped the ropes above his head. 

Sandburg leaned over Jim, grinding his cock as deeply as he could into the close, yielding heat of Ellison's body. He took one of Ellison's nipples between his teeth and teased it and the man beneath him cried out and writhed. 

With a quick swipe of his tongue Blair released Ellison's nipple. He crumpled on top of Jim and stretched up one arm to grab the ropes entwined around Ellison's arm; his other hand clutched Ellison's rigid cock and pumped it with what remained of the oil. Jim untangled his legs from the hammock with a grunt and wrapped them around Sandburg's waist, swinging around to face him and sucking Sandburg's tongue into his mouth. Blair braced himself against the rocking hammock and shoved himself into Jim again and again; one of Jim's hands squeezed his clenching ass and urged him on. 

He broke away from Ellison's mouth with a long gasp and hissed into his ear, "Yeah, that's it, fuck it, move! I want to feel you around me." He cruelly squeezed down the shaft of Ellison's straining dick and with a harsh roar the Sentinel bucked and started pumping hot come into Sandburg's hand, the muscular sheath of his ass spasming around Sandburg's cock. Three savage thrusts later Sandburg threw back his head and howled out loud as he felt himself explode in white wet heat. 

Sandburg and Ellison lay together gasping in the swinging hammock, coated in sweat. Slowly they disentangled themselves from the ropes and from each other. Sandburg eased himself apart from Jim and quietly smiled, "Ow, ow," with every move. 

"Dammit, Chief," Jim asked gruffly, "are you trying to kill yourself or something?" 

Sandburg giggled and curled into Ellison's chest. "Ow." 

"Dammit." 

"Ow." 

A pause, then, "... Dammit." 

Sandburg looked up and saw that Jim was desperately trying to keep his expression free of the archetypical shit-eating grin. "Ow," he grinned back. 

Ellison chuckled. "So, you happy now, you little shit?" 

"Happy? Happy?!" Sandburg laughed wildly and nuzzled his head into Ellison's chest. 

After a moment, in time with the slow creak of the hammock, Ellison heard him softly singing against his skin, "Bongo bongo bongo, I don't want to leave the Congo, no no no no no no..." 

" missed by a continent there, Chief" 

"... Bingle bangle bungle, I'm so happy in the jungle, I refuse to go..." 

"Gotta go back sometime," Jim sighed. 

"Nope. Staying," mumbled the pile of hair on Ellison's chest. 

"What about your dissertation?" smiled Jim. 

"Fuck the dissertation. Got my witch doctorate." 

"What about Simon?" 

The shaggy head rolled and groaned. "Oh, argh, oh, no, no... nope, nope. Sorry, Simon." 

There was a long minute when they were silent and the hammock lazily rocked them. 

Then: "If the Jags make the playoffs we're going back." 

"Right with you there, Tarzan." 

\-------------to be continued-----------------------


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventures of Jim and Blair in the Peruvian rainforest continue.  
> Archived on 11/19/99

## The Rules Of Attraction Part Four

by spiderine

* * *

The Rules of Attraction 

Part 4 

Disclaimer: Characters from "The Sentinel" series belong to Pet Fly. My imagination belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended; passion is its own reward. 

Notes: 1) This story takes place at some undetermined time in the third season, after "Warriors" but before "Sentinel Too". It is part 4 of an ongoing work. 2) My apologies to any Quechua speakers for mangling such a beautifully expressive language. I'm trying my best. 3) It's all Nikolaia's fault. 

* * *

The Sentinel peered out from the shadows and motioned to his Guide. "You're clear! Move!" he hissed. 

Without a moment's hesitation, the shaman bounded past him and sprinted across the clearing to cover, hitting the dirt and rolling under the stilt-like structure of the men's house. He lay there panting until Ellison joined him seconds later. 

"Good, good," Jim muttered. "She'll never see us now." He sat up and watched as Sandburg also sat up and started brushing dust off the strips of gauze encircling his torso. "Goddammit, Sandburg," he burst out. "Why do you bother bathing in the first place?" 

Blair looked at him and giggled. Jim had taken the first-aid kit down to the river with them and insisted on scrubbing him raw with disinfectant and Dr. Bronner's biodegradable soap before wrapping him in antibiotic ointment and bandages like some extra from "The Mummy's Tomb". Okay, so maybe Sandburg had schlepped books into the Peruvian rainforest, but at least he didn't try to keep up an obsessive-compulsive idea of personal hygiene in a world carpeted with insects and leaf litter. After living here for a couple of years, you'd think the guy would _know_ better! 

"Fine, whatever," Ellison smirked. "At least this way we don't have to worry about your _mother_ catching us walking around without paint and swimming before breakfast." 

Blair kept laughing. "Man, I gotta introduce her to Naomi. Whooda thunk I'd have to come all the way to Peru to get hooked up with a Jewish mother?" 

Jim grumbled. "Keep laughing, Chief. Wait until you see what you look like once you let me smear that paint all over your face." 

* * *

Actually, he didn't end up looking that bad even Ellison had to admit he'd done a half-decent job of it. The red lightning bolts masking Sandburg's face lent his normally gentle blue eyes a touch of fire. The black stripe across his mouth seemed pure wicked commentary on his inability to keep his mouth shut. And hey, Ellison smiled to himself, even Sandburg's mom seemed happy when they showed up all nice and neat for breakfast. Gotta please the in-laws, after all. 

"Son, where were you? We were looking for you," Iaqu said, passing out bowls of cold cassava and monkey stew left over from last night. 

Sandburg exchanged a quick grin with Jim. _Definitely_ had to introduce his Chopec parents to Naomi. 

His father continued. "This morning the shaman from across the mountain went to your shelter looking for you. He wanted to look at your wounds, but he said he saw you were busy, so he came here." 

A muscle in Jim's jaw twitched; Blair felt a blush rising; both men buried their faces in their breakfast. 

"He said you were being well taken care of --" 

Blush. Twitch. 

"-- and he left these for you." Pato produced two containers, which he held out to his son. 

Sandburg cleared his throat and said, "Where is he now? I want to thank him for ... everything." 

"He's gone," said Pato. "He had to leave this morning if he wanted to get home before nightfall. He left these for you," he repeated, holding one container out to Blair, a gourd basin with a lid. Neither he nor Iaqu seemed at all surprised that, between yesterday and today, their strange adoptive son had suddenly become fluent in their language. 

"Gone? There are so many things I wanted to ask him, to say -- Enqueri," turning to Ellison, "we have to find him! He's an old man alone in that forest." 

"I think that if he wants you to find him, he'll find you," Ellison replied, taking the basin from Sandburg's father and pushing it at him. "Take his gifts." 

Sandburg opened the basin, which was filled with an aromatic fatty ointment. 

"He said that would heal your scars," Pato said. Jim sniffed at the ointment and grunted, shrugging at Blair's questioning look. 

"This," Pato continued, handing Blair a small woven bag, "this he said you'd know what to do with." 

Sandburg opened the bag. In it was a large handful of something that looked like compost and was strongly redolent of ... mouse shit. "Aau..." Sandburg whispered, proving he could "wow" in at least two languages. 

Jim grabbed the bag. "This we're taking home and having analyzed," he said gruffly in English. 

Not understanding him, Sandburg's adoptive father blinked at them both. "He said to tell you something." 

"Yes?" asked Sandburg, eager for wisdom. 

Pato looked confused. "He said to tell you, in the future, never drink anything if you don't know what it is." 

Blair felt sure that his blush was hot enough to melt the paint right off his face. Then in his mind he could hear the cackle of the old trickster, and before he could help himself, started laughing his ass off. 

* * *

Ellison strode across the clearing, watching his Guide play with the village children. Sandburg had found the kids after breakfast, tossing around a small monkey skin ball, and within minutes had organized a tempestuous game of Hacky Sack that now boiled and shrieked from one end of the clearing to the other and back again. Off in the shade of one of the shelters, three almost-adolescent girls stood giggling, whispering, watching the game and cheering. 

He reached Sandburg just as Blair leapt forward and managed to bounce the ball back into the circle off his head. Jim clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder, and when Blair turned to him grinning widely, jerked his head -- Come on, I want to talk to you. 

"Isn't that cool?" Sandburg bubbled as the two men wandered away. "I tried to get the older girls into the game, but --" 

"Sandburg, you spoke to the _girls_?" 

"I'm a shaman," said Sandburg, as if that explained everything. "They're too old to play with the kids, but I convinced them that a good cheering section was vital to the game --" 

"Listen," Ellison cut him off. "Do you want to go hunting?" 

"Yeah, sure." 

Jim continued as if he hadn't heard him. "The guys are organizing a hunting party. They want me to come with them, and asked if you wanted to go, too." He paused. 

"I sense a 'but' here," urged Sandburg. 

"But," Jim exhaled, "they understand if you want to stay here and -- and be my wife." 

Sandburg laughed. "You could just tell them what _really_ goes on." He enjoyed seeing his Sentinel almost blush, and slipped his arm around the taller man's waist. "Joking, joking," he assured him. 

Ellison suddenly exclaimed, "Sandburg, you play with the _children_. You talk to the _girls_!" 

"I'm a shaman," Blair repeated calmly. "I'm an anthropologist. I talk to _everyone_. And I know about berdache culture -- men living as women. But that's not me," he pointed out. "You're my Sentinel," he said, leaning into Ellison's shoulder. "I go where you go." 

"You'd look lousy in a dress anyway. Too fucking hairy," Jim grumped over Blair's head, trying to hide a surge of inexpressible contentment. 

Hours later, the Sentinel and his Guide were creeping through the rainforest in the company of Qisa, Aqilu and a few other Chopec hunters. Jim took point; the Chopec spread out behind him like geese in formation. And Sandburg was all over the place. Never more than a few paces away from his Sentinel, but somehow managing to rove around the party like a sailboat on tack, or a hunting hound scoping for a scent. 

And the amazing thing was how well Sandburg moved. He was totally at his ease, clambering over logs, slipping between branches, even scurrying along one tree limb before swinging to the next. In fact, for once, his smaller body was proving an _asset_. He still was no Tarzan, but there was obviously something new going on here. 

Ellison caught hold of his partner and pulled him aside. "Holy shit, Chief," he whispered, trying not to catch the attention of the hunters. "When did you decide to turn into Monkey Boy?" 

"What?" replied Sandburg, totally oblivious. "Oh! Well, you know, it's just a matter of looking at things in three dimensions." He waved his hand at their surroundings. "I never really noticed how _flat_ Cascade is, you know? Here, 'up' and 'down' are just as valid directions as 'left' or 'right'. It's cool!" With just a bit of effort, he scrambled up a tree trunk and swung out onto a lower branch. "And it's much easier for me to keep an eye on you from up here," he said, looking down at Jim with a Cheshire cat grin, but breathing hard just the same. 

Jim grunted in satisfaction. True, it might be easier for Blair to watch out for him from the trees, but it was also much easier for him to keep an eye on Blair -- and keep him out of the way. Sandburg had refused all offers of weapons. "I'd just shoot myself in the foot," he'd said. Which was probably true enough, but it also meant there was one defenseless member to the party. Not that Blair was being a liability; with the help of their Sentinel, the hunters had already taken a large spider monkey and two birds. 

Something rustled faintly. Ellison motioned, and the hunters fell still. Jim focused on the indistinct sound and tried to follow it through the brush with his nose as well as his ears. He felt rather than heard Sandburg jump from the tree to land with a dull thump beside him. 

Along with the rustling, Jim heard a kind of snuffling and caught a pungent, musky aroma... wait, there was another sound there too, a second animal perhaps... a slow, muffled thud like a drum from the heart of the earth... almost too slow to be a heartbeat, mesmerizingly slow... booming deep through the forest, through the soles of his feet, up his spine, into his brain... ceaselessly... oh so slow, so deep... 

...rubbing against his neck, another heartbeat against his neck, _the_ heartbeat, the only one that mattered "...voice, I'm right here, follow my voice, Enqueri, come home, come back..." rubbing his neck, Sandburg was rubbing his wrist against Ellison's neck and speaking in that calm, low voice that soothed but brooked no refusal. The voice that could bring him back from the ends of the earth the voice he would follow to the ends of the earth... 

Slightly embarrassed, Ellison shook his head and cleared his throat. "Pig," he muttered. "Northeast." He waved toward the musky snuffle. The hunters simply nodded and slipped off in the direction he indicated. 

Ellison held Sandburg back from following them. 

"You okay?" Blair asked him, moving to rub his back. 

Jim nodded. "How long was I out?" 

"Just a couple minutes," said Sandburg. Ellison felt his face flush. "No sweat, nobody minds," Sandburg smiled. "Come on, let's get that pig!" He snorted comically, bouncing on his feet, wheeling, taking off through the trees, turning back to Jim, beckoning again. "Oink! Oink!" 

Ellison snorted a laugh and jogged to catch up with him. "So now you're Predator Boy, too?" 

"Hey, man, I read 'Lord of the Flies'!" 

"Well, then you'd know to shut up or you'll spook the pig," Jim told him. He pointed upwards. "Up a tree with you, Monkey Boy. These boars can be dangerous." He waited until Sandburg sulked his way into the branches overhead before moving stealthily away to meet the hunters. 

The tracks were there but had been scattered, it looked like the pig had doubled back around when he heard the men approach. Ellison tentatively cast his senses outward, uneasy with the possibility of zoning while Blair was up a tree. He was safe there, at least, but that slow, spellbinding heartbeat, whatever it was, still lingered in Ellison's brain and no way did he want to go there again 

yeah, there was that pig, it had bolted off to the left. "Wakpi! Ichuq!" he called to the party, and they took off after it. It was spooked now for sure and turned to charge them, a fine big boar -- a peccary really but "pig" would do. It lowered its head and lumbered at them, tusks ready to do some damage. It swiped at one of the hunters, who leapt out of the way and took a shot at it. But the pig wheeled and broke away, untouched, and the chase was on again. 

The hunters tried to flank the animal, but nobody could get a clear shot at it through the brush. Ahead of them the branches rustled and there was a loud CRACK of breaking wood. The pig skittered and darted off to hide under a log and was ensnared in the leafy end of the large branch that was being jabbed down from a tree by Sandburg, who grunted as he stabbed downward, pinning and confusing the pig in foliage until Qisa could race up and finish the animal off. 

Ellison stood by and watched with a small, proud smile as the hunters laughed and pointed up into the tree at Sandburg, jumping out of the way and back in again as he took swipes at them with his branch. He was stretched out on his stomach, balancing along a low limb, his legs twined around the trunk and lost in foliage, and he laughed and oinked as he swung his stick. Then Blair stopped and a weird look came over his face. He quickly glanced back into the tree above him and instantly started screaming, "Shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!" He swung the stick back up into the tree and immediately lost his balance and fell to the ground. Dragging behind him was a python at least 10 feet long, wrapped around his left leg. Sandburg kicked and thrashed at the snake, which reacted instinctively, tightening its coils around Blair's leg and working its way up his body, its tongue tasting Blair's sweat, in no rush at all. 

From within the beast's body Ellison heard a deep, drumlike thud, hypnotically slow. His heart went cold. 

Ellison and the other hunters grabbed for Sandburg and tried to pry him from the python's steely grasp -- it didn't help at all that Sandburg was still flailing around with his damn stick. Try as Jim might, it was impossible to loosen the snake's hold on Sandburg's lower body, and there was no way he could get a good swipe at the animal with his machete if Blair didn't stop thrashing around. Ellison could hear himself yelling, "Sandburg! Hold still, you stupid shit!" but Blair wasn't hearing him; he'd gotten the stick between himself and the snake and was trying to use it as a lever to pry it off him. Then with a strangled gasp he arched, twisted and rolled himself over on his stomach so the python's head was beneath him, and jabbed the back end of the branch sharply downward, plunging the sharply broken wood right through the animal's skull, pinning it to the ground. The python's body convulsed and spasmed in its death throes as Blair strained back, allowing Ellison to strike the snake's head off with a single savage whack of his machete, sending a spurt of blood and bile spraying over the men. 

"Oh shit oh shit oh god oh shit oh god," Blair panted, flinging himself over on his back and wriggling clear of the dead snake's coils. He lay on the ground, still panting. "Tomorrow I learn to use a blowgun, I learn to use a crossbow, I learn to use an AK-fucking-47, oh shit oh god oh shit." 

Ellison grabbed Sandburg under both arms and hauled him to his feet. "Are you fucking crazy?" he screamed in his face. "You could have been killed!" 

For one shocked moment Sandburg simply gaped at him. Then a slow smile spread across his blood-spattered face Ellison didn't know whether to punch him or kiss him and he said, "Hey man, whaddaya want? It's a jungle out there." 

* * *

That night there was a party. The monkey and the birds went into the stew pot, but the boar and the snake were roasting on spits, as befitted the special occasion. The cassava beer was making the rounds. And after dinner, there was entertainment. The entire village laughed until their sides hurt as Asikatuq the shaman and Qisa the hunter starred in an epic re-enactment of the entire pig-and-python escapade. 

Enqueri the Sentinel stood off in a smoky, shadowy corner and watched his Guide flop around on the ground and swipe at Qisa with a leafy stick. First Qisa was the pig, snorting and charging as Sandburg swept the branch past him and shouted "Ol!" Then as the python, he grabbed Sandburg by the ankle as the shaman mimed falling from the tree, squirming, kicking and laughing so hard he could hardly pretend to scream. Finally, Qisa played all the hunters at once, trying to subdue both Sandburg and the snake until the shaman could stake the invisible serpent's head to the ground. 

Ellison wasn't laughing. He could still hear the echo of the dead python's heartbeat. He had heard the thing and ignored it until it was almost too late. Shit, he had _put_ Sandburg in that tree! Thanks to him, his Guide was already scarred for life and now had almost been killed. He had no business bringing Blair here in the first place. Fine, there was the whole shaman thing, but that was done. They were going home. Tomorrow. 

The performance was over. Sandburg and Qisa rejoined the cheering circle of villagers. 

"So, Snakesticker," Qisa called to Blair. "Tomorrow I teach you to shoot, right?" That brought a laugh from the crowd. 

Sandburg waved him off. "Aaah, what do I need that for? I have a stick!" he boasted, brandishing the leafy branch to great acclaim. 

From the shadows, Ellison called out in English, "And what happens when the next snake comes along?" 

Sandburg turned to him and looked at him curiously. He shrugged and answered in the same language, "Okay, maybe I'll learn the blowgun. I can use that for waking up the freshmen in the back of the class." Then he turned back to the people and said in Quechua, "Enqueri asked what I'd do the next time an animal comes along. I told him no problem, the animals are my friends." He picked up a spare rib and bit into it with relish. 

Aqilu called, "Oh, so you have no problem eating your friends, then?" He laughed and elbowed Qisa in the side. 

"Of course not," Asikatuq retorted. "I figure sooner or later they're going to eat me." He dropped the rib bone on the ground and buried it with his foot. "See?" He pointed down; there were bugs crawling on the bone already. 

"That's true," commented Pato. "See? He's a smart one, my son." 

Ellison called out, in Quechua this time, "And what happens when they decide to eat you before you're ready for it?" 

"You always have to be ready for it," the shaman answered steadily, looking only at Jim. He knelt down and picked up one of the bugs crawling over the bone. "Remember what the dung beetle says," he said, watching it as it crawled over his hand. Then he looked back at Jim and grinned. "Shit happens." 

He replaced the beetle gently on the ground and went over to his parents. 

"Allin tuta, mamay, tatay," he said, kissing each of them on the cheek. "Sayk'usqan kashiani, ripusaq. Paqarinkama." Goodnight, mom, dad. I'm tired, I'm going. Until tomorrow. He wandered over to Ellison, laughing and resisting attempts to get him to stay. Placing his hand on Jim's shoulder, he said softly in English, "Let's go home." 

Ellison took him by the elbow and led him away from the clearing. "That's exactly where we're going. Home. We leave tomorrow." 

Sandburg stopped dead. "What? We've been here less than a week!" 

Ellison nodded. "And in that time you've been drugged, scarred, infected and damn near eaten. I think that's more than enough excitement for one vacation." 

"What, you jealous?" asked Sandburg, folding his arms. 

"Enough, Chief!" 

"No!" Blair exclaimed. "Not enough!" He rolled his eyes and walked Jim back to their shelter, further out of the tribe's hearing range. "Why do you get to have all the fun?" he insisted quietly. 

" _Fun_?!" Jim's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Are you out of your hairy mind?" 

"I mean, it's okay for you and the _boys_ to go out and risk yourselves, but you think it's not okay for me to decide to take that same risk." 

Ellison nodded repeatedly. "That is absolutely right. You are right on there, Chief. It is definitely _not_ okay." 

"Bullshit! First, just _first_ , this is no different from me getting shot at, kidnapped or half blown to bits when we're on a case for the PD. And anyway, may I remind you who let his buddies pressure him into asking me along on this pig chase in the first place?" 

Jim interrupted. "I know, I know! This whole thing is my fucking fault, and I'm getting you out of here before I let anything else happen to you." 

"You _let_? * _You let_ *?!" yelled Sandburg, shoving himself right up into Ellison's face. "This is not about you!" 

Ellison took a step back, stunned. 

"Yeah, that's right, Tarzan," Sandburg huffed. "I don't give a shit about your territorial instincts. I know you're just trying to protect me. That's cool. I love you," he said, gazing intently up at Ellison. "But for fuck's sake, please at least retain some semblance of consistency! You want me to go out hunting with the posse to prove I got cojones, that's fine. But then you can't try to pad the corners of the universe! Aaarrrggh, agh, that's beside the point," he floundered, started to pace and wave his arms. "The important thing is that it's my choice! My life, my body, my choice." He stopped and grinned. "No, wait, that's what Naomi is off protesting about this week. Not that kind of choice. Or maybe it is? Hell, I don't know!" He took a deep breath and exhaled. "Am I getting through to you at all?" 

"I don't want you to be hurt," Jim said simply. 

Blair went to him, put his arms around him tenderly, looked up at him, replied just as simply, "Now you know how I feel whenever you hang your ass off a helicopter. Or do something else totally _stupid_ ," he added, eyes twinkling. 

Ellison crushed Sandburg into his chest and whispered into the top of his head, "I heard the snake." 

"I figured," Blair shrugged in his arms. Meeting Jim's gaze once again, he continued, "You can't be everywhere at once. You were feeding the tribe," he insisted. "Because of you, a hunt that could have taken days was done in an afternoon. That's what's important." 

"Because of you, too," Jim answered. 

"Yeah," Blair exhaled with a grin. "Ain't that the shit?" He looked sharply at Ellison. "And you want to take that away from me?" 

Jim shook his head. "No. You're right." 

"Of course I'm right, I'm the Guide." Blair took his hand and smiled angelically. "Now let's go to bed. I'm going to suck you like a python." 

"Fuck that," Jim said roughly and pulled him as close as he could physically manage, forcing Blair's mouth to his. Not that Blair was resisting -- he just liquefied, seemed like, just wrapped around him and melted into his chest and kissed him, pulled Jim's tongue into his mouth, let himself go completely slack and let the larger man take him and do anything he wanted. Anything he needed to feel that his Guide was with him, part of him, never away from him ever again in any way that really mattered. 

And that was absolutely not what Jim Ellison wanted right now. 

He forced Sandburg back against one of the poles supporting the roof of the shelter, and was almost furious at Blair's acquiescence. He grabbed his ass with both hands, hard, and hefted the smaller man so Sandburg was forced to wrap his legs around Ellison's waist and his arms around his neck. 

Ellison felt Blair's weight wedged between his body and the shelter pole. He was moaning as much as he could with Ellison's mouth still devouring his. Jim could feel the hot, rigid projection of Sandburg's cock against his belly, and before he could make the conscious decision to do so was humping him violently, mindlessly, the sensation of blistering friction against his own erection almost more than he could bear. He could hear Blair's ragged breathing, his heartbeat racing, feel it in his own chest, and that infuriated Jim too, because _of course_ he could feel it, he felt it even when Sandburg was half a mile away, at this point he was past wondering, past caring when he had started living with a second heartbeat in his chest. He needed that heartbeat like he needed water and air. Sandburg was in him, inside him and all around him, he lived encompassed by the smell of him, the eddies in air currents made by his pacing body and waving hands, the very static electricity of his hair gave Ellison goosebumps. And Sandburg could stand up after practically getting himself killed and smile and say, "Shit happens"? Didn't he _know_? 

Ellison groaned into Blair's mouth, felt his knees give way under a weight that had nothing to do with the press of Sandburg's body against his. He let go of Sandburg's legs and let him slip down to support his own mass as well as he could in his current pliant state, let go of his mouth Sandburg moaned. Jim dropped further, down to his knees as Blair's hands slid up his body. The fuzz on Blair's stomach brushed against Jim's face, each separate hair like a finger caressing him. Growling, he tore at Sandburg's loincloth with his teeth and hands until his cock was free and Ellison could take it in both hands and lick fervently up its length like a communicant receiving the Host at the altar. St. Sandburg, patron saint of Sentinels. Sentinel. Just one. To hell with that free-love hippy-dippy shit. No fucking way would he share this with anyone, ever. 

"Need you," he murmured into the warm musky hair cushioning Blair's balls, nibbling at the tender spot where the delicate skin went tight joining the underside of his cock. His hands petted and stroked the heavy erection that gently jutted against his face, just as Blair petted his head with hands light as feathers. His kisses became gentle bites running up the length of Blair's cock until he reached the engorged head that throbbed with heat and lapped up the long single droplet of liquid that wept from it. It seemed the world tipped on its axis; he was swimming in the sheer lushness of Blair's most intimate, fundamental scent and the single taste of his Guide's essence expanded on his tongue until it was less any single sensation than a white light that filled his whole body, whole being and he was lost in the universe of Blair. 

"Jim?" The voice was husky, tentative. Sandburg cleared his throat and tried again. "Jim?" Knowing what he would see, and resigned to it, Sandburg opened his eyes and looked down. His Sentinel was on his knees, leaning against his groin, face and hands still pressed against his cock. His eyes were closed peacefully and his fingers were still. Nostrils fully flared, his breathing was deep, calm and intense; he almost might have been asleep. 

Sandburg could have laughed. It would have been the perfect time for one of his patented quips. But the sight of the man kneeling before him filled him with a surge of love so fierce it was excruciating. His Sentinel, so strong, so competent and deadly, so purely vulnerable... 

Carefully supporting Jim, Blair slid down until he was kneeling too and then stretched out as far as he could without breaking contact with him. He grasped one of the woven mats from within the shelter, dragged it closer and lay Jim on it on his side. He stood, kicked out of his shredded clothing and used the mat to drag the unresponsive man under the thatched roof, then lay down beside him, facing him, and gathered him into his arms. 

"Jim, Jim, beloved," he crooned, tucking Ellison's face between his own shoulder and neck, where his pulse was strong and easy for his Sentinel to find. "Come back to me, don't leave me like this." Blair gave himself a little grin, and stroked Jim's face. "You big old cocktease," he whispered fondly. "Come home, I'm right here, I need you, beloved." He rolled his eyes and chuckled. "You don't know how bad!" Then, glancing down to see that Ellison was formidably hard with an erection that peeked from his loincloth, Sandburg chuckled again, "... or maybe you do," and kissed the other man on the forehead. 

Wrapping his top leg around Ellison's waist, Sandburg continued to caress him and murmur to him softly but compellingly. "Come back, Jim, I need you here with me if you want me to do all the things I want to do with you. I love you, I need you and I am going to make you feel so good, but you have to come back to me." He leaned back, reached between Ellison's legs and released his erection from the confines of the loincloth, beginning a slow, smooth stroke. "I want to make love to you. Follow my voice, Enqueri, come home to me and let me love you." He closed his eyes and slid down the heat of Jim's body, letting his rigid dick slide against Ellison's. "Love you always, always," he groaned almost silently, thrusting gently. "Love you, love you," until Jim's body started to moving to meet his. "Yesss...." Blair hissed and pressed harder. 

Ellison moaned and his head rolled against Sandburg's neck. His mouth wandered fitfully until it found Blair's to embrace his lips and tongue keenly at the same time as it tried to speak. "In, in me... in," he pleaded breathlessly. "Now." His arms clutched Sandburg's back. 

Blair nodded happily, humming contentedly wordless sounds as he rolled them both over so Jim was on his back beneath him. He pushed two fingers into Jim's mouth and whispered, "Suck." Jim did, wrapping his tongue around Blair's fingers and coating them with saliva. Then Blair replaced his fingers with his mouth and kissed him deeply before scooting his way down the taller man's body and wriggling between his legs. He ran his fingernails down Ellison's thighs. "Open," was the next whispered command, and again Ellison obeyed eagerly, drawing his knees up and spreading widely. 

Sandburg ran his hand possessively over the exposed surface behind Jim's balls, down to the moist, puckered flesh of his hole. Leaning forward over the turgid dick that rolled on Jim's belly, Sandburg let his breath wash currents of air over the sensitive organ as in a barely audible whisper he said things he'd never imagined saying to a former Special Forces Officer-slash-Police Detective almost a full head taller than he was. 

"That's it... spread... Where's my beautiful hole? Yes, there, beloved, relax... wider, yes..." He could hear Jim's harsh breathing but didn't look up. Jim was wonderfully hot around his fingers, his tight muscles clutching him almost shyly. He kept murmuring a warm breeze over Ellison's cock, keeping his voice so low he could hardly hear himself. "Focus on my voice, beloved," he crooned with a smile, "find my voice and you can dance on my fingers all you like." For emphasis he gave one firm push that brushed the hidden prominence of Jim's prostrate. 

Ellison arched back, groaned wildly and started dancing, fucking himself on Sandburg's fingers. Blair looked up at Jim's blissfully contorted face and writhing body, and murmured to himself, "Beautiful, fucking beautiful... now where's that oil?" 

Without opening his eyes, Jim flung an arm out wildly and seized the small container of oil that lay on the floor by the hammock behind him. He thrust it at Blair. 

Sandburg had to chuckle, "Thank you, beloved," as he reached out his free hand to take the gourd bottle. But Jim thumbed out the stopper and tipped the oil into Blair's palm, then rested the bottle on his chest while he resealed it and neatly placed it on the mat beside them. All without opening his eyes or ceasing to move around the fingers that continued to caress him inside. 

Watching what he had to consider a quintessential Ellison moment, Sandburg bubbled with joy. He ran his oiled hand over his dick, which was almost painfully hard, leaking fluid, his balls drastically tight; then he smoothly removed his fingers from Jim's body to replace them with his oiled hand, rubbing into Jim's gaping hole as Jim bucked his hips and moaned, "...in..." 

"Yes, in..." Blair breathed subvocally, hardly bothering to make a sound. His Sentinel heard him and answered, "yesssss...." 

Blair placed himself at Jim's opening and pushed in, gritting his teeth. He could come just from this, he knew it, but he wanted to make this last. Jim groaned and rose to meet him, forcing himself down onto the intrusion of Blair's cock and bucking upward. Blair's voice opened in a wail and without a further thought he started plunging desperately into Ellison's body, rearing and thrusting, arching his back and driving forward again and again until Jim roared and clenched around Blair's cock and spurted streams of come onto his stomach and Blair's chest. 

Blair wrenched himself from within Jim and howled at his hoarse cry of protest. He scrambled his way up the body beneath him, straddling the larger man's chest, and with one hand grabbed Jim's face and forced his mouth open while with the other he pumped his own shuddering climax over Jim's face and into his mouth. 

Panting heavily and rocking slightly, Sandburg opened his eyes and looked down at the face he was still holding, the steady, crystal blue eyes that looked up at him and knew him completely. He leaned over and kissed his come from his Sentinel's face, letting the hand that had held him so tightly pet him tenderly. Jim reached up for him; Blair stretched out over Ellison's body and nestled into his chest, wrapped in his strong, deadly, vulnerable arms, listening to Jim's pounding heart as he knew Jim was listening to his. 

"Love me always," he begged subvocally, forming the words without making a sound. And his Sentinel heard him, and answered, "Forever." 

\------------to be continued-----------------------


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventures of Jim and Blair in the Peruvian rainforest continue.  
> Archived on 11/19/99

## The Rules Of Attraction Part Five

by spiderine

* * *

The Rules of Attraction 

Part 5 

Disclaimer: Characters from "The Sentinel" series belong to Pet Fly. My imagination belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended; passion is its own reward. Stellaluna the bat makes a cameo, copyright Janell Cannon, published by Harcourt Brace & Company. 

Notes: 1) This story takes place at some undetermined time in the third season, after "Warriors" but before "Sentinel Too". It is part 5 of an ongoing work. 2) My apologies to any Quechua speakers for mangling such a beautifully expressive language. I'm trying my best. 3) It's all Nikolaia's fault. 

* * *

Sandburg dreamed of the cat. Not exclusively for the most part his dreams were as normal as normal got for him. Like having cocktails in Ankgor Wat with an undergrad advisor he hadn't thought about in years. Or looking behind the refrigerator at the loft and discovering there was a whole hidden room back there with an indoor pool that Jim hadn't told him about. Or the one where he woke up in the middle of the night, a small child on someone's farmhouse floor, listening to the sound of Naomi singing along with a record of Janis Joplin doing "Cry Baby". But now the cat would be there too. Basking in the sun among the ruins of Ankgor. Stepping delicately around the damp perimeter of the pool, hissing as it shook drops of water from one foot after the next. Rolling on its back before the farmhouse hearth. 

At first, dream logic being what it was, he hardly noticed the great black panther. Then he got used to having it around. Instead of ignoring it as just part of the landscape, he would nod to it or run his hand along its back as he passed. The next night the panther started following him around. If he walked, the panther would walk beside him. If he sat, the panther would lie beneath his chair, twining around his legs and presenting its huge head to be scritched. Sandburg began to welcome the cat's companionship. So, dream logic being what it was, when he woke up in his dream as that small child on that farmhouse floor, it was no surprise when the animal padded over and lay down beside him. Little-boy Blair curled up against the fuzzy purring panther, so much larger than he was. In the dream it never mattered that he had no idea where he was, or that his mother wasn't with him. He could always hear her in the next room, singing joyously along with Janis's heart-stabbing wail. This was a happy dream, a safe dream. And now, feeling the heartbeat of the black beast against his chest, this was the best dream of all. 

* * *

He woke up before dawn again and had a moment to listen to Jim's heartbeat before a stirring beneath him told him that Jim was waking up too. He rolled over and looked into the cool blue eyes looking back at him. 

Jim ran a hand through Sandburg's hair. "Why are you waking up so early these days?" he grumbled. "You're never like this at home." 

"Let's go watch the sun rise," urged Blair softly. 

Jim sighed. "The sun rose yesterday." 

Sandburg nodded and smiled. "And today, and tomorrow, and every day for the rest of our lives. Isn't it great?" 

Ellison sighed again, and let slip a hint of smile in spite of himself. He pushed Sandburg off his chest, though not without affection, and the two men got up. 

They reached the high ridge over the river just as the first line of light broke through the gray dawn sky. 

"Sit down, get comfortable, man," said Sandburg. "I want to try something." 

Jim groaned, but sat on the ground, dropping the bag containing their shower and first-aid kits. 

Plunking himself down beside him, Blair began, "I've been thinking " 

"Oh, no... It's first thing in the morning, and there's no coffee here." 

"Listen to me," Blair continued. "Everything we've done with your senses so far has been about sharpening and narrowing your focus. Filtering out distractions, scenting something small from far away, for example. Okay, so we've got the laser working. You're Eagle Eye Ellison. But there are other ways to see." 

He put his hand on Ellison's arm and dropped his voice. "I want you to relax now. Deep breaths. We're doing sight now, so dial up easy, nice and slow." Years of practice with Blair and the fact that he had just woken up let Ellison fall quickly into a light trance state. His chest rose and fell smoothly as he gazed over the ridge at the growing, glowing sunrise. 

Sandburg continued in the same low, compelling tone. "Don't focus. Don't tighten the beam. Don't look at any one thing." He stroked lightly down Ellison's arm, using the contact to keep Jim from spiraling down into a zone. "What do you see?" 

"Clouds... small, over the mountain," Jim whispered vaguely. "The rains will be here soon." 

"Not the weather report," Sandburg commented, amused, before falling back into a quiet chant. "Pull back, find the pattern. See behind the sight. Look past what you see. See the air, see the light. Find the pattern," he urged. "What do you see?" 

"The air... the light," Jim echoed from deep within the spell of his Guide's voice. "Mist rising from the river... crystal... colors in the light... the sun... breaks..." he was starting to breathe heavily "shining in the light... crystal... colors of it all... everything " A sharp hiss of breath and suddenly Ellison growled, "Goddamn, fuck you, Sandburg!" 

"What? What's wrong?" Blair asked, eyes wide with worry. He put his arm around Jim's shoulders as the large man trembled with tension. "Are you okay? That was wonderful!" 

"I don't have the words there's no _words_ for that!" Jim forced through gritted teeth. He closed his eyes. "What the fuck do you think I am? There's no words what the fuck are you trying to do to me?" 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, so sorry," Blair answered him. He scooted as close to Ellison as he could without crawling into his lap, stroking his hair and face. "I didn't know, I couldn't know. But you saw? Did you see?" 

Jim turned to him and lowered his forehead onto Sandburg's shoulder. "Oh, god yes." 

Sandburg whispered, "Is it beautiful?" 

"Yes..." 

"Then the words don't matter." Blair pressed his lips to Jim's temple. "I promise I'll never do that to you again." 

Jim rolled his head on Blair's shoulder and rested his hands on the top of Blair's head. "No," he said. "No and no. The words do matter how can I tell you if I don't have the words?" He looked up at his Guide, and his eyes were like melting ice. "If I can't tell you, what's the point?" 

"Jim..." 

"And," Jim continued, "whether or not _I_ do this again is my choice. My choice, right?" 

"Your choice," vowed Blair. 

"Then we have four senses to go," Jim said quietly. "If we do it enough, maybe I'll find some words." 

"Jim..." 

"But not now." 

"Whatever you want, man, anything " 

Jim cut off Blair's assent by covering his mouth with a slow, questing kiss. Blair's lips parted to let Jim's tongue snake inside. The heat of the sun finally reached them and surrounded them as they embraced in a glowing warmth that remained with them as the two men separated and that was reflected in Sandburg's sky blue eyes as he smiled impishly and inquired, "Wanna do it here or down by the water?" 

"By the river," Ellison answered. "If we're going to make a mess, we might as well be near where we can clean up." 

"We're going to make a mess?" Sandburg asked, still glowing. 

"Oh, yeah," Ellison promised fervently. He took hold of the nape of Blair's neck and kissed him again with more force and growing need. Then he pressed his lips to Blair's forehead for a moment before he stood and held out his hand to his Guide. 

The river wasn't beautiful. No waterfalls or spectacular rock formations, just the wide clear water flowing smoothly past muddy wooded banks. But downstream from the village it formed a lazy bend and the two men walked there peacefully in silence, downstream where their bath wouldn't soil the village's water. They found a secluded spot hidden by immense trees with roots that arched into the air and down into the water. 

Ellison dropped their shower bag and sank to the soft carpet of leaf litter, drawing Blair down beside him. Blair lay back and let Jim roll on top of him, loving the feel of the larger man's weight. They kissed themselves breathless. Blair drew up his legs and wrapped them around Ellison's waist and the two men rocked together sweetly for a while. Then Jim knelt back and quickly stripped off his loincloth as Blair wriggled beneath him, following his example. They came together again without a word, smooth hard flesh on flesh. 

Ellison let himself drift in sensation slow, pleasant friction, lazy river burbling, the buzzing chorus of insects behind the raucously calling birds and monkeys, deep decaying scent of the jungle itself woven into the sharp tang of desire rising from the man beneath him. No danger of zoning; it was all too good to focus on any one thing and at the center of it all was the steady beat of his Guide's heart in time with his own. 

It was Blair who started moving more urgently, wrapped his arms and legs around him, broke away from Jim's mouth to moan, "I wish you were in me." 

The surge of need between them at those words made it impossible for Jim to comply. "It would be so good," Jim murmured kisses into the pulse of Blair's throat, "so good ... good..." but he couldn't stop thrusting now, too late now, a wave of shudders tensed through his whole body and he was coming, warm and wet pulsing between their bodies. No explosions, no fireworks, just a world of sweet perfection. 

Sandburg panted raggedly and squirmed under him. Jim hoisted his weight off his Guide's body and worked his way down to where he could lap his warm semen from Blair's stomach, flat hard cat-licks covering his belly and his red, rigid penis. Jerky thrusts of Blair's hips shoved the hard cock at Jim's face, and Jim caught it in his mouth with happy little growls and slurps as he sucked down its length. He felt Blair run his fingers lightly over his ears and down his neck to cup his chin and move his face away. 

"Wait," Blair whispered. "On your stomach." He slithered out from underneath Ellison and pressed his hand to the small of his back, smiling to see the large man arch and bend to his touch. Jim stretched himself prone on the forest floor, arching his back and bending his knees to offer his muscular ass. He rested his head on his folded arms and smiled serenely, eyes closed, legs spread, waiting, purring. 

Sandburg ran his hand over his Sentinel's marvelous, glorious ass, reaching between his legs to fondle his balls in their nest of crisp hair and then the quiescent shaft, already straining to wake back up again. Blair couldn't bear to stop touching Jim, but had to split his concentration as he reached over and rummaged one-handed in their shower bag, hoping to all the gods he could find something useful in there. Jim made a move to get up and help, but Blair lightly squeezed his balls and ran his hand back up to the small of Jim's back, where a steady pressure told his Sentinel to stay put. First aid kit, flip the lid, there had to be something in here yes, jackpot! Actual real lubricant! Sandburg took the tube and positioned himself between Jim's legs, then grinned. He dropped the tube, grabbed Jim by the hips and ran his tongue right over Jim's tightly puckered entrance. Jim bucked his hips and stifled a sound that was amusingly close in Blair's mind to a squeal. He had to see if he could make Jim do that again. Yup, no problem. He ran his tongue around the tender flesh and pushed, licking the opening and stretching the muscle within. Jim raised his hips further and pushed back into his face, and Blair probed deeper, licking and spreading him as he felt Jim relax around him. Then he knelt back and thumbed open the tube of lubricant so he could spread it on Jim's entrance and his own cock. 

A slight shift and Blair was stretched out over the broad muscles of Jim's back, positioning himself carefully, and entering. Slowly, gingerly but with force, he eased his length into the unbelievably tight, hot sheath. The two men exhaled a groan together and rested a moment, fully joined, two hearts pounding as one. 

Only when he felt that he had to move or die did Sandburg thrust forward with a low grunt. Jim moaned and ground his ass so Blair was forced even more deeply within. Ellison arched back and climbed up onto his hands and knees, raising his hips so Blair was carried off the ground by the length of the taller man's thighs, his entire weight splayed over Jim's back and forced down inside him, impaling him. 

Blair braced his feet on the ground and reached around Jim's chest under his arms, then hung on as Ellison arched and bucked under him, moaning low, guttural noises. Sandburg threw his head back and gritted his teeth, plunging forward as hard and deep as he could. His fingers dug into the meat of Jim's chest and his toes scrabbled for purchase against the ground. Then he reached down and found Jim's cock, erect again, and stroked him to a steady rhythm that the rest of Jim's body quickly adopted, as Blair had hoped. He rode the sweaty, gleaming body of his Sentinel for long ecstatic minutes, using the hand around his cock to control their movement, hissing endearments and obscenities into the curve of shoulder that he'd sunk his teeth into without noticing, driving into him again and again. "You fuck that," he groaned. "You beautiful... yeah, like that, do it! Yes, harder, gods, beautiful hole, fuck it take it I love you love you love you yes yes" finally exploding in one huge flash, he screamed out loud and clutched Jim's pumping cock and Jim started coming too, rolling and plunging until they both just collapsed over on their sides, still joined, gasping. 

"You're going to kill me one of these days, Chief," exhaled Jim. 

Blair laughed heartily, with just an edge of hysteria. "Kill _you_? My gods! What about _me_?" He eased his way out of Ellison's body and wriggled around until he was in the larger man's arms. "I think we better just go together, okay?" 

"Deal." 

"But not for a long, long time." 

"No," Ellison agreed firmly, and hugged him tighter. They lay like that for a few minutes, then Jim added, "but if I don't get a bath real soon I might just die of dirt." 

"Wow," Sandburg mused, running a finger along Jim's chest, "a real hot bath... that would be so great right now." 

"I was thinking..." Jim began. 

"Oh no! And there's no coffee here!" Sandburg grinned. Ellison swatted him on the head and continued, "I figure, on our way back to the world, I might call Stephen from Lima and ask if we could use the cabin for a few days, to kind of, like, ease us back into civilization." 

"What do we need that for?" 

"Well, you know, it's got the woods and all, but with indoor plumbing, refrigeration..." 

"Oh, man," Sandburg groaned, rolling over onto his back against Jim's chest. "Cold beer!" 

"Hot bath," grunted Jim. 

A moment passed, then they spoke as one, a single word like a prayer: "Pizza!" And laughed. Sandburg, feeling magnanimous in a safely pizza-free environment, ran one hand over Jim's sleek body. "Double pepperoni, just for you, man," he murmured lovingly. 

" _Half_ double pepperoni," answered Jim generously. "And half whatever the hell crap you want. What, pineapple? Tofu?" 

"Man, right now, plain old peppers and onions sounds just fine." 

Another peaceful moment spent contemplating pizza-bliss, and Ellison sighed and started getting up, dragging Sandburg to his feet. "Come on! Bath!" 

Sandburg stood, leaning over to brush the leaves and dirt from his body. Ellison was turned away from him, collecting their clothes and the scattered contents of the shower bag, and he heard Blair say, "Oh yeah, one more thing..." 

"What now?" Jim asked, turning to him. 

Blair was grinning at him. "You heard that?" 

"Sure, Chief," answered Ellison, a bit confused. 

"Great, because I'm not saying a word." 

Jim stared. He saw Blair grinning, but his mouth wasn't moving. There was a little swallowing motion in his throat, that was all. But Jim had heard him, clear as day. "What the hell...?" he sputtered. 

"Come on," Blair said aloud, grasping his arm. "No reason we can't talk just as well about this in the water." 

Jim let Blair lead him down into the river and hung the shower bag on a low branch as Blair unwrapped the gauze around his torso and formed it into a wad to dispose of in the fire later. Sandburg dove under and splashed around for a second before surfacing, shaking his shaggy head like a dog. "Man, that feels great!" He grabbed Jim and tried to duck him, but Ellison stood there like a redwood, chuckling at Blair's attempts to get him off balance. Then, just as Blair gave up and turned away, he tackled the smaller man and they both went under with a tremendous splash. 

Surfacing with Blair in his arms, Jim reclined them both against the bank and pulled the large bottle of biodegradable soap from their bag. Pouring some into his palm, he started working it into Sandburg's hair. "Oh yeah," Sandburg groaned, accepting the strong scratching fingers and leaning into his Sentinel's chest. 

"Now," Jim said, "what the hell were you talking about?" 

"That's just it, I wasn't talking!" Blair said, popping upright and blinking soapsuds out of his eyes. "Well, not really. Remember last night?" 

"I'm not senile yet, Sandburg," Jim groused, pouring out more soap onto a cloth and starting to lather himself. 

"I was _subvocalizing_ ," Sandburg explained, flipping his soapy hair out of his face and starting to work his hair into a lather. "Forming words in my throat without saying anything. And you heard me. Cool, huh?" He ducked under the water and splashed around again to rinse his hair. Surfacing with a splutter, he asked, "Did you hear that?" 

"What?" Jim asked, working the cloth carefully between his toes. 

"Okay, no problem, it doesn't work under water." He turned his back to Ellison. "What about that?" 

"What about what? This is getting annoying, Chief." He snapped the wet washcloth at Sandburg's ass. Sandburg flinched and yipped, "Bastard!" 

"I heard that just fine, Chief," Jim smirked. 

Blair grabbed the cloth and started scrubbing himself. "If you'd stop to think for a moment you'd realize how cool this is," he complained. He rubbed the cloth over his face, and Jim took the opportunity to grab him and pull him close and bury his nose in Sandburg's neck, all clean and wet and slippery. 

"Misq'iy, munaqi" my sweet, my beloved, he purred happily into the base of his Guide's throat. "You smell like peppermint soap." 

Blair squirmed against him like an irritated otter and bitched, "You're not taking me seriously." 

"I'm taking you _very_ seriously," Jim assured him. "I just don't care. Not now. I've had enough intense Sentinel shit before breakfast, that's all." He clutched Blair even tighter and gnawed gently at his neck. "I just want you." 

Blair melted against him and put his arms around his Sentinel's neck. "Oh man, you have me," he said, "you _so_ have me..." 

"And you have me," Jim answered, laughing. "You know damn well I'll do any fucking thing you want, so stop griping, okay?" He ran his large hands down Sandburg's wet flanks, and Blair shivered, looked up at him and breathed, "Anything?" 

"Anything," Jim swore gruffly, "anything," running his nails back up Blair's sides and sinking his teeth back into his neck. 

They ended up having two baths that day, and missing breakfast. 

It turned into a very leisurely morning. Sandburg made some noise about splitting up and getting some work done; Ellison mumbled something about doing some fishing. But within an hour or two, Blair had wandered upstream to the rocky outcrop where Jim was poised like a Colossus, barbed spear in hand. Blair sat on the sunny shore and watched Jim for a while as he stalked and struck, and flipped a flopping, silver-striped fish onto the bank where Blair scooped it up without a word and strung it onto the length of vine that already held two of its kin. But in spite of his apparent success, Jim decided that the fish weren't biting to his satisfaction, and the two men found their steps taking them back to their shelter. Jim made a small fire while Blair cleaned the fish; and after they'd stripped every morsel of succulent white flesh from the bones and skin, and Jim had conscientiously burned all their scraps and doused the fire, they surrendered themselves back into the rocking cocoon of the wide rope hammock. 

Sandburg dreamed of the cat. Heaving warm fur, the rumble of its purring, the soft leathery pads of its feet. Gleaming fangs, incendiary eyes, wet snuffling nose in his armpit, whiskers tickling his nipples, rough wet tongue on his nipples 

Sandburg moaned and opened his eyes he was already raging stiff rolled over on top of his Sentinel and started licking and sucking his nipples as if his life depended on it. He wanted Jim to fuck him more than he could ever remember wanting anything, but Jim was already wrapping his legs around him, begging, "Noq'ata amichichiy, Pasukulay, allichu, khuyayki noq'ata ukupi" fill me, my Guide, please, I need you inside me and there was no denying the urgency of that plea. Jim was roiling beneath him, groping through the ropes for the bottle of oil and shoving it into Blair's hand, and neither of them could find rest until the throbbing length of the shaman's erection was buried balls-deep in his Sentinel's willing, greedy ass. 

Finally joined, panting, they stared into each other's eyes. 

"Musqurqani..." Jim gasped, eyes wide. 

"You dreamed?" Sandburg remembered dreaming... something. "What were you dreaming?" 

Jim worked to form words. "I I don't know, I can't remember," he finally managed. "You?" 

Blair tried to nod and shake his head all at once. Something was going on here, something important, but he could barely remember his name at this point, much less even try to think rationally. 

/just be with me/ he subvocalized. Jim answered, "Yes, always..." and started rolling his hips in a slow, gentle swell that washed through Blair like a wave. He tenderly stroked the silky rod of Jim's hard-on as they moved together, enfolded in each other, warm skin against skin, so slowly, so slightly it was less a movement than a tremor between them. Now that they were coupled, all urgency vanished; their bodies, already having appeased each other several times that day, seemed content to maintain that fundamental connection without any need for immediate release. 

It was as if the very jungle fell still as they lay together for what seemed like hours, the rise and fall of their breathing providing almost all the movement they needed to prolong their union. Ever mindful of his Sentinel's need for counter-stimulation, Blair would occasionally suckle at Jim's nipple or stroke the sensitive skin where his groin met his thigh as they both floated in an endless semi-zone where neither man could tell where his own body ended and his lover's began. 

/only this, forever this, ever this.../ Blair crooned in his throat without even realizing it. To Jim, the sound was like music, as if the very air caressed him with his Guide's voice. And at long, long last, when he heard the voice ask /ready?/, he breathed "yes..." and then there was a steadily increasing rocking to the rhythm of their coupled hearts, deeply entwined and building to a mutual climax that was less an orgasm than a blossoming sunrise. 

A long time after that, Blair said, /we should move./ 

And a while after that, Jim sighed, "I guess..." He was in no hurry; he should be stiff and cramping, but he wasn't. His senses floated freely, catching little snapshots honey-wasp-buzz, passion-fruit-aroma, tiny flecks of drifting pollen against his skin, the omnipresent Guide-heartbeat, Guide-scent, Guide-hair-scratch... and 

"Ah, shit," he said quietly, trying to move and finding he was pretty stiff after all. "Intruder alert, Chief." 

"What?" Blair said and started untangling himself from Ellison's body. Jim hissed as Blair's cock slipped from within him and Blair quickly kissed him on the shoulder and whispered, "Sorry." 

Jim touched Blair's arm to calm him as they awkwardly separated. "No prob, Chief," he said, "it's just the kid." 

"What?" repeated Blair, looking around. Then he saw Kipu, hiding in the brush just beyond their shelter. 

Sandburg adjusted the loincloth he'd shoved aside in their haste and swung out of the hammock. He didn't know how long Kipu had been watching, but from where he was hidden he couldn't have seen anything anatomically explicit. The rest of it was just two people in love holding each other, and as far as Sandburg was concerned there could never be anything wrong in that. But still... 

"Hi, Kipu," he said cheerily, strolling over to where the boy was still crouching. "You know, it's a good idea to announce yourself when you come to visit someone." He squatted down to the kid's eye level. "What's up?" 

"I know, I'm sorry," Kipu said, looking up forlornly. "I didn't mean to be rude. But my monkey's gone. I wanted you and the Sentinel to find him for me." 

"Oh, wow," Blair answered. "That's awful. But you know what? I bet that monkey went home to his family to tell them all about the amazing Kipu he found and all the funny tricks he taught you." He took a moment to glance quickly over his shoulder at Jim, who had gotten up and stood by the hammock, stretching out his muscles. Jim caught Blair's eye with a wink and the hint of a smile. 

"The monkey taught me tricks?" Kipu asked curiously. 

"Oh, yeah," Blair assured him. "Didn't he teach you to carry him around on your shoulder all the time and feed him fruit whenever he wanted it?" 

Kipu's face broke into a smile and he crowed, "The monkey taught me tricks!" 

"You bet!" Sandburg said, standing. Kipu followed suit. "I'm sure that your monkey just missed his family, Kipu. Wouldn't you?" He put his hand on the boy's shoulder and started them walking toward the village. "Hey, did I ever tell you the story about the baby bat who got lost and was adopted by a family of birds?" 

"No!" Kipu skipped happily beside him. 

"Oh, yeah! Her name was Qoyllorkilla Starmoon and she loved her bird family, but no matter how hard she tried and tried, she just didn't make a very good bird..." 

Jim hung back in the shelter to wash himself before he followed them a few yards behind, marveling at how easily Sandburg could switch gears like that. Then, indulging himself, he marveled at the smooth movement of the muscles in his Guide's back. Thanks to careful cleaning and bandaging and okay, maybe thanks as well to repeated applications of the old shaman's ointment Sandburg's back and chest were healing far faster than Ellison would have thought possible. Which was a good thing, since they were pretty much out of gauze. The deep scratches running in lines down his back were definitely going to scar, but Blair didn't seem to mind that in the least. And, well, if forced to admit it, Jim didn't really mind it either. There was a primitive little corner of his mind okay, a primitive _big_ corner that puffed with possessive pride to see _his_ marks permanently etched into _his_ mate's body. Yup, all mine, Jim thought; he found himself suppressing a goofy little grin, even though he knew no one could see him. Mine, mine, mine. 

As they reached the village clearing, Sandburg whooped, scooped Kipu up and swung him over his shoulder in fireman's carry, and broke into a run. "I caught a fish!" he shrieked, bursting into the middle of the usual tumbling flock of village kids. "I caught a fish, but he's too small, so I'm going to throw him back in the rrrrriiiiiivvvveeeerrrrrr!!" Howling with laughter, Kipu kicked and punched against Blair as the shrieking shaman circled the clearing, collecting a comet's tail of gleeful children that he led off in the direction of the water. The village women, busy at various tasks and probably a bit relieved to have someone else watching the kids, smiled at each other to hear the hollering and splashing of the entire juvenile population of the village (which would definitely include Sandburg, Ellison thought) cannonballing into the river. 

It really was amazing, but not unexpected. Within a few brief days, Sandburg had as usual snuck his way into the heart of the community. He was welcome everywhere and quickly becoming indispensable. Everybody adored him. He'd spend hours listening to the men's stories, but his patented Sandburg beta-dog body language and his relationship with the Sentinel had them convinced that he was no threat to the tribe's hierarchy. He joked and flirted with everyone, male and female alike, but the women saw that he was making no moves on their daughters or their husbands and sons, for that matter and that he was a wonderful babysitter, so they would sit and gossip with him in a way that they'd never consider doing with any other man. Besides, it was impossible to be jealous of him when he had even toothless half-bald grandmothers winking at him and cracking dirty jokes. And the kids practically worshiped him. Kipu had to be stopped from following him around like a puppy. Men's house gossip said that the boy just hadn't been the same since he lost his dad to a fever almost a year before, but Sandburg had him running and laughing again in no time. 

In a way, Sandburg had become more a Chopec than Ellison himself. As a Sentinel, his place was on the outskirts, guarding the perimeter; his role, his powers and his personality forced a certain distance from the same people he was sworn to protect. Sandburg was his Guide and stood beside him with a solidity like the very ground Ellison walked on, but he was also Ellison's link to the tribe, and the affection the villagers felt for their strange, shaggy shaman couldn't help but bleed over into a warmth and ease toward their Sentinel that Ellison couldn't recall feeling when he was being Guided by Incacha... 

No, Ellison thought, automatically slamming shut that box in his memory. Don't go there. 

And don't go to the river, either. Talk about following Sandburg around like a puppy! Ellison forced himself to turn toward the men's house. He found a few of the guys there and spent a pleasant hour or so with them, fletching and tipping arrows, trading hunting brags and snacking on tiny, juicy deep-fried grubs that crunched like popcorn. Being part of the community. And if he was always aware of the second heartbeat in his chest, if one ear was always keeping tabs on his Guide's irrepressible laughter, well, that was just a Sentinel thing and he couldn't help it. Really. 

Until the heartbeat started pounding like a racehorse's hooves and the laughter turned to gargling screams. Ellison was on his feet and running toward the river before he'd consciously registered the difference. He broke through the brush at the riverbank just in time to see Blair emerging from the water, hauling Kipu's unconscious body to shore. 

Suddenly Ellison stumbled and all his dials spun out of control. Frozen in place, the very sunlight stabbing into his eyes and flaying his skin, he could barely see Blair trying to clear Kipu's airway, pressing desperately on the boy's too-still chest, breathing into his too-blue mouth, pressing again, breathing again, the whole time muttering to himself in an unconscious subvocalization that pierced Ellison's brain like a banshee's scream /this can't be happening, this cannot be happening/ and Ellison couldn't breathe, couldn't move, the universe was tipping, the ground was turning liquid beneath him and then Sandburg _was_ screaming, screaming at him, screaming, "Jim! Jim! Can you hear a heartbeat!?" And Ellison was assaulted by a searing lance of white light and pure excruciating pain and toppled to the ground like a redwood felled by a chainsaw. 

  * To be continued. Ain't I a stinker? :) ---------------- 




	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim learns that a Chopec shaman has many more responsibilities than just the Sentinel, and Blair learns a whole lot of weird stuff about him and Jim.  
> Archived on 11/26/99

## The Rules of Attraction Part 6

by spiderine

* * *

The Rules of Attraction 

Part 6 

Disclaimer: Characters from "The Sentinel" series belong to Pet Fly. My imagination belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended; passion is its own reward. The song Blair sings to Kipu is a traditional Quechua folksong in the public domain. 

Notes: 1) This story takes place at some undetermined time in the third season, after "Warriors" but before "Sentinel Too". It is part 6 of an ongoing work. 2) My apologies to any Quechua speakers for mangling such a beautifully expressive language. I'm trying my best. 3) Gimme gimme feedback! Oh, baby, you know what I like! 4) It's all Nikolaia's fault. 

* * *

Someone slapped Ellison in the face. Then cold water poured all over his head and he spluttered, trying to sit up. Blair -- oh, god, Blair was dead, drowned -- no, wait, that was wrong, it was the kid, Blair was fine, Blair was _wonderful_ and right in Jim's face, right where he should be, shaking him really fucking hard, screaming really fucking loud, but that was just fine with him. 

"Jim! Jim! Come on, man, we don't have time for this! I need you!" 

Blair was all right, all right, all right, just damp, not dead. It was the kid -- oh, god, the kid! "The kid..." Jim stammered inanely. 

Blair nodded. "That's right, Jim, the kid! Get the fuck up! You have to help me! What the hell do we do for him, Jim? He's coughing water, I gave him CPR, what do we do now? You have to get it together, hear me? GET UP!" He started dragging Ellison to his feet and after a moment Jim realized what he was doing and stood up unsteadily. 

Other people were milling around the riverbank. Riri, Kipu's mother, was holding the kid and wailing. Kipu -- thank god, the kid was retching and coughing up river water and shivering in his mother's arms. He would need to be kept warm to prevent shock, he would need antibiotics to keep the river water from infecting his lungs. "Antibiotics," Jim said, struggling to clear his head and shake off the insane vision he'd had of Blair in the water, still and cold. Where the hell had that come from? It was ridiculous! Sandburg swam like a fish -- he'd _saved_ the kid! "Keep him warm, Chief!" he instructed. "I'm getting the first aid kit! He needs antibiotics -- and did you bring any vitamins? Vitamin A?" 

Blair left Jim the moment he was able to stand steadily and ran back to Riri and her son, yelling in Quechua at people to get blankets, rugs, anything warm. "Yes!" Blair screamed back to him in English. "And echinacea and goldenseal -- it's all in my pack!" 

Ellison took off at a dead run through the forest in the direction of the shelter he shared with Blair. By the time he got back, carrying the first aid kit, the vitamins, the herbs and a fucking _sweater_ that ridiculous, wonderful Sandburg had absurdly brought along, Kipu had been wrapped in layers of woven rugs and Qisa was carrying him into Riri's shelter. 

"Hot water, Chief -- _boiled_ ," Ellison directed. "That river water is teeming, there's enough bacteria in there to knock out a mule, and there's already far too much in his system. Put the herbs in it, make tea. He'll have to swallow the meds, it's a bitch, those things are horsepills, but we shouldn't force him to swallow the vitamins too." 

Sandburg immediately told Riri to get a fire going, boil water for tea, really _boil_ it, not just heat it. Smart move, Jim thought -- Kipu's mother needed something to do to distract her. 

Blair peeled the layers of rugs off Kipu's upper body and slipped the sweater over the kid's head before wrapping him up again while Jim rummaged through the first aid kit. He had put some erythromycin in there, left over from a respiratory infection he'd had a year ago. Sandburg had bitched at Jim no end for not finishing the complete antibiotic series the way he should have, but now the extra meds were a godsend. 

Blair sat on a mat on the floor of the shelter rocking Kipu in his arms while they waited for the water to boil. Jim could hear him murmuring a dumb little nonsense song to the shivering, coughing kid: 

"Chuspitas uywani  
Qori raprachata,  
Chuspitas uywani  
Nina n'awichata. 

Nis pipas yachanchu  
Uhyanchus manachus,  
Nis pipas yachanchu  
Mihunchus manachus." 

[I am raising a fly/ With little golden wings./ I am raising a fly/ With little eyes of fire./ Nobody knows/ If it drinks or not,/ And nobody knows/ Whether it eats.] 

When Riri passed Blair a cup of boiled water, Blair opened capsules of beta carotene, echinacea and goldenseal, dumped them into the hot liquid and propped Kipu up against his chest. "Sip this now, okay, Kipu?" he said. "It's going to taste like shit, that's how you know it's good for you, right?" he joked gently. Kipu nodded weakly and sipped, making a face. "Yup, that's pretty awful," Blair smiled. "Now, you have to swallow these without chewing them, okay? Put this one on your tongue and wash it down." He put an erythromycin capsule onto Kipu's tongue and held the cup to the boy's mouth for him to drink again. Unused to swallowing pills, Kipu coughed and choked a bit as he swallowed, but Blair rubbed his back and made him drink the entire cup. 

Jim tuned in to Kipu's breathing. "Still some fluid in there, Chief." 

Blair turned to where Iaqu stood, holding a teary, trembling Riri. "Mamay," Blair asked his mother, "what do you use for a lung cough? He needs to keep spitting up. And get a rug for Riri -- she's upset and should be kept warm too." 

Qisa rushed up with a rug and gently draped it around Riri, ignoring Iaqu's reproving glance as he brushed the hair out of Riri's eyes. Iaqu started chattering orders at some of the other women and they rushed off, bringing back more hot water, more herbs, and a second cup for Riri. Under Iaqu's demanding eye, the women prepared expectorant tea for Kipu and something soothing and sweet for the boy's mother. Much more comfortable now that she was in command, Iaqu looked daggers at Qisa and Ellison and told them in no uncertain terms that men had absolutely no place in a sick child's home. It was obvious that only her adoptive son the shaman was not included in her rebuke. 

"You're doing fine, Chief," Jim instructed. "Just keep him warm and get him to cough up as much as you can, then make sure he gets plenty of rest. Don't let him lay down flat, keep his upper body elevated," he called as the two men reluctantly retreated in the direction of the men's house -- Ellison glancing over his shoulder at Blair's back and Qisa trying to pretend he wasn't glancing back at Riri. 

Not that it was any easier for Ellison to hang out in the men's house. On the one hand, there were the other guys trying to distract him and Qisa with dirty jokes, gambling games, weapons and tools that suddenly required urgent repairs, and bowls of cassava beer that needed to be drunk before they went sour. On the other hand, Qisa kept asking him whether he could hear anything going on over at Riri's place -- as if Ellison could focus on anything but! It was all too much, and finally Jim waved them all off and went back home. 

Here there were no distractions at all. The place was tiny, and it wasn't like there was anything to do once Jim had straightened up the mess he'd made of their packs. At least Blair's heartbeat was strong and steady in his chest. Ellison flung himself into their hammock and swung there, trying to tune out everything else, for once begging his goddamn senses for a zone-out. But, of course, since he wanted it, he couldn't have it. 

His thoughts were racing a mile a minute. What the hell had happened to him at the river? He could have sworn for a moment that it was _Blair_ lying there, dead and cold, and just that flash of recall sent a stab of terror through him. He cursed at himself for turning into a pathetic, needy wimp in his old age, and over what? A short, wiry, hairy, motor-mouth, hippie anthropologist _guy_! Whatever happened to the parade of tall, leggy, breasty redheads? What the hell had happened to _him_? And what the hell was taking Blair so long? The kid had a mother to take care of him, Blair should be here, where he belonged. Here in this hammock, in Jim's arms, with all that hair tickling Jim's chest, his breath tickling Jim's nipples, his hands stroking Jim's thighs, beautiful strong gentle hands stroking... oh god. 

Jim groaned and gave up. Who was he kidding? Whatever was going on, whatever he had turned into, it was too big for him to understand. This was his Guide's job, figuring this shit out. Right now he'd give anything to be hearing one of Sandburg's long-winded rambles about how all the weird bullshit going on in Ellison's head had a perfectly reasonable explanation based on some primitive mystical mumbo-jumbo. That all he had to do was relax and go on instinct like a good caveman. 

And trust his Guide. Yeah. Sandburg was perfectly fine and what, a couple hundred yards away at most? There was no reason for him to be flipping out like this. If Sandburg was here, he'd tell Jim to relax, take deep breaths, relax, dial it all down -- but if he dialed down he couldn't hear what was going on in the village -- but why did he need to hear that anyway? Sandburg was competent, he could handle it; all Jim had to do was relax, breathe, trust the Guide, trust that heartbeat, trust that voice, imagine that voice like a warm bath washing over him, imagine those hands brushing against his skin... give up, give in, oh god those hands were all he wanted, why fight it? Hands like feathers, hands like steel, soothing him and driving him crazy. Beautiful Blair hands teasing down his flanks and up the insides of his thighs, cupping his balls, stroking up the underside of his prick... 

Jim pulled his prick from his loincloth and gently squeezed the growing shaft, rolling his balls with his other hand. If Blair were here he'd run his fingers around the crown of Jim's dick, yes, lightly, just like that, teasing over the slit and down. Use his nails gingerly up and down the shaft, up and down, god he was hard now, squeeze hard, felt so good... Jim pumped his cock tightly, pulling up over the head and back down hard to the base and back up again, again, again, rolling his thumb over the sensitive point just under the crown. His other hand \-- _Blair's_ other hand, yes -- snuck down below his balls to just barely brush at his delicate perineum; Jim shivered with pleasure thinking of how boldly Blair liked to touch him there, it was so good when Blair pushed inside him, taking him on his fingers, making Jim dance on his fingers like there was nothing else in the entire world for Jim to do but move on his fingers because that was what Blair wanted and all he wanted was what Blair wanted Blair wanted Blair wanted Blair yes Blair anything yes oh god -- coming all over his hand and his loincloth and his stomach. Coming for what, maybe the _fifth_ time today? Jim couldn't help but smirk proudly at himself -- not so old after all, Ellison. A hell of a distraction, a hell of a relaxation. Not so bad for a fucked up needy old wimp caveman after all. 

And promptly passed out. 

When he woke up, it was dark. He was a sticky, crusty mess. Blair still wasn't there. Blair's heartbeat was still calm and steady, and -- quickly tuning in -- nobody was screaming or crying in the village, but Blair was still over there with them. Jim got up and cleaned himself off, and headed back to the village. 

He paused briefly at the edge of the clearing to send his sight and hearing over to Riri's shelter, where -- hello! Blair, _his_ Blair, was holding Riri in his arms, stroking _her_ hair, rocking and crooning soothing nonsense at _her_. The kid was asleep, propped up in a hammock and wrapped in piles of rugs, breathing pretty clearly. Blair and Riri were alone together. 

Every single muscle in Ellison's body turned to steel cable; he consciously had to stop himself from running over and tearing Blair away from her. He wanted to beat the living shit out of both of them. Instead, he tried to breathe deeply -- and succeeded only in snorting like an angered bull. But carefully, stiffly, he put one foot in front of the other, deliberately making his way to the men's house. 

* * *

When Ellison got back home the next day, Blair was there, surrounded by books and papers, scribbling away like it was the most natural thing in the world. He looked up at Jim and smiled, "Hey, dude!" Then he noticed Jim's brand-new black eye. He got up quickly and -- finally, finally! Jim thought -- came over to him. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked. 

Jim shrugged. 

Blair nodded thoughtfully. "Uh huh," he said. "So, have you had breakfast?" 

Jim shrugged. 

Blair handed him a half-finished bowl of cassava and broth and watched as Jim squatted down and dug in. "So, Blair," said Blair. "How's the kid? He's going to be fine, Jim, thanks for asking. And how are you, Blair? Well, Jim, I'm pretty wiped out, actually. I was up all night with Kipu and his mom --" 

Jim snorted. 

Blair looked at him sharply, then went back to his books and sat down. "You know," he said, "we can do this the hard way or the easy way, Jim." He sighed and slammed shut his notebook. "You can _tell_ me what's bugging you, or we can poke around it all day. But I'm telling you right now, I am not in the mood for this, man. I am really fucking tired, and frankly kind of freaked out -- there's a lot of weird shit running around my head right now that I can't get a handle on. I spent the night making sure a kid doesn't die and his mom doesn't completely flip, and the _last_ fucking thing I need --" He stopped, pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbed his eyes. 

Jim looked up when he heard Sandburg's breath catch. Blair was crying? Trying not to, at any rate. Blair was taking deep breaths and settling himself into a comfortable lotus position. When he looked back at Ellison, his eyes were bright and tinged with red. "Please, Jim," he begged softly. "Just a clue, please?" 

Ellison, Jim thought, you are a total fucking Neanderthal jerk. 

Jim still couldn't manage to do what he knew he should do, what most of him wanted to do -- go to Blair and hug him tight and somehow make everything okay again. However, the caveman controlling his brain did allow him to manage to clear his throat and grunt, "Wrestling." 

Sandburg tried to keep a relieved smile from slipping onto his face. "Wrestling?" he repeated. 

Jim nodded. "Last night. Men's house. Wrestling match." 

"I see," Blair said slowly, still fighting the grin. "Doesn't quite strike me as a fair match..." 

Jim shrugged. And sheepishly admitted, "Blindfolded." 

"Uh-huh. And...?" 

"Double-teamed," Jim mumbled. "Elbow in the face." 

"I see," Blair said again, nodding. "Now that you mention it, there was a bit of whoopin' and hollerin' coming from that direction." 

"Nice of you to notice," Jim blurted. And immediately regretted it. Kind of. 

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Blair asked sharply. 

Jim pulled something from the belt of his loincloth, and showed it to Blair. "I won you a pipe..." he offered. 

Blair barked out a laugh. "And you call _me_ immature! Oh, no, you don't get off that easy. In case you've forgotten, I was busy last night." 

Jim snorted. "No shit. I saw how busy you were -- you and the kid's mom." 

"What!?!" Sandburg scrambled to his feet and screamed in Jim's face, looming over where he still squatted on the ground. "Oh, man! Are you fucking shitting me? Is _that_ what this is about? What, you want to smell my _dick_?" He grabbed Jim by the hair and shoved his face into his loincloth, then pushed him away, hard. "You are fucking kidding me! I can't believe you!" He started pacing. 

"I know what I saw," Jim grumbled, looking down at his lap, fumbling with the pipe he was holding. 

"What you _saw_ was a woman whose husband died less than a year ago, who thought she was going to lose her only son, too!" Sandburg yelled, pacing, arms flailing. "You fucking asshole! What do you think I'm doing here? You think this is just a game or something?" 

"Come on, Sandburg," Jim snorted. "Hacky Sack?" 

Sandburg stopped dead and stared at Jim, a light dawning in his face. "You really have no idea, do you?" he asked quietly. "You have no idea what's going on here." 

Jim looked up at him, imploring. Blair sat down next to him and touched his arm. Jim shuddered. 

"Oh, man," Blair said. "Oh, man. Look, man, I don't know how things were with you and Incacha --" 

Jim glared at him. "Don't go there." 

"I think we have to, Jim," he persisted. "Not now if you don't want, but I think we have to. Soon." 

Jim shrugged, not looking at him. 

Blair stroked his arm until Jim looked up at him, then smiled at him and said, "You know I love you, Tarzan. Right?" Jim nodded and grabbed him, crushing him in his arms and snorting great gulping breaths as he tried to regain control of himself. Blair closed his eyes and hugged him back as hard as he could for as long as he could. 

Then, "We okay now?" Blair mumbled from the depths of Jim's chest. Jim nodded but refused to let him go when Blair tried to wriggle away. "You gotta let me breathe, okay Jim?" Jim nodded again and loosened his hold just enough. 

Blair squirmed around in his arms until he could look up at Ellison's face. "Now listen up, Grasshopper," he smiled. "I gotta clue you in on Shaman 101." 

"Will there be a test?" Jim whispered into the top of Blair's head. 

Sandburg rolled his eyes. "I think there already was." 

"How'd I do?" 

Sandburg laughed. "Lucky for you you're schtupping the prof, man." Jim frowned at him and Blair hugged him and reassuringly added, "Joking, joking..." Then he sighed. "You have to let me up, Jim. We have stuff to talk about, and you know I can't lecture if I can't move." 

"So that's an incentive?" Jim smiled. But let him go anyway. 

Blair popped to his feet and started pacing. "Okay, okay. When you were here with Incacha --" He held up his hands at Jim's glare. "Stop. Just listen, okay? You weren't really involved with the community, were you? You were stranded, alone, you had to organize a militia and hold the Pass, you had to learn the language, you had all these crazy senses to deal with. Whatever Incacha did to help you -- we're not going there now, calm down! -- it really didn't have anything to do with the rest of the tribe, did it? But Incacha wasn't just your Guide, he was the shaman for the whole village. And now so am I." He exhaled. "That means doctor, preacher, teacher, shrink and prime time entertainment all rolled up into one. That's a hell of a lot for one person. Lots of times it isn't supposed to be just one person, but these days, the way the indigenous populations are shrinking -- sorry, forget that. Anyway. I show up," he sighed, "and I don't know shit. I don't know the customs and traditions. I sure as hell don't know this area's herbal pharmacopeia. I have to make these people trust me, they have to trust that Incacha made the right choice and that this skinny little gringo twit who isn't even going to be living with them full time is worthy of being their intercessor with the universe! ... I'm losing you, aren't I?" he said, looking worried. 

"Um," Jim admitted, "you had me until the intercessor part." 

"Hmm." Blair paused, thinking. "Spirit guides, right?" He looked to Jim for confirmation and Jim nodded -- he damn well understood those. Well, not _understood_ , but... 

"Okay," Blair continued, pacing again. "One of the major functions of a shaman is to be a go-between to the spirit world. Why is that?" he asked rhetorically, falling back into lecture mode. "Well, most people have far more important mundane shit to deal with. Food, shelter, family, politics, stuff like that. When it comes to the Big Questions, most people don't really want to deal with them, even if they could. I mean, all they want to know from Life and Death and the Afterlife is how to keep their family fed and in one piece, right? It's a shaman's job to deal with all this mystical shit so they don't have to. A shaman has to be able to deal with _anything_ , any possible curve ball the spirit world throws at the tribe. Floods, angry ghosts... injured kids..." 

Blair stopped pacing and closed his eyes. "Do you have any idea how scared I was that something like this would happen? That someone would get sick and they'd expect me to _cure_ them?" He was breathing heavily now. "Jesus! I was in the water -- you know, I thought I was drowning, Jim! Can you believe it? I mean," he panted, "I knew I wasn't, but I swear I could feel the water in my lungs, everything going dark and cold... I mean, what the fuck is with that? Nothing like that has ever happened to me before, I've swum in deep surf, for fuck's sake! I can't explain it, it was so insane -- it was awful, it was -- Oh, god!" he wailed, collapsing to his knees and holding his head in his hands. "My god! I was trying to keep myself from going under, trying to keep Kipu from going under, I finally, finally get him on land and I'm still trying to convince myself _I'm_ not dead, then _you_ hit the ground like a ton of bricks, and what the fuck am I supposed to do! I'm screwed! You're totally out of commission, and I'm still trying to convince myself that I'm not _dead_! And where were you, man? I need you to be there for me! I mean neeeeeeed you! Like, there's water and air and food and Jim -- and not necessarily in that order! It's sick -- it's like I've turned into something totally Jim-centric, and, believe me, that is really fucking freaking me out, man, that is just not _me_! And on top of everything, there's Riri going off the deep end, she's sure that everything she has in life she's going to lose, last night it all came pouring out, her husband was suffering for _days_ before he died, and Kipu _saw_ it, and who did she have to help her deal with it all before this? No one! Sure not Incacha, he was gone, gone half a world away, and he _never came back_! Because he's _dead_! There's been _no shaman_! Just _me_!" He was rocking now, rocking back and forth, eyes squeezed closed around leaking tears, hugging himself in a tiny ball and rocking himself. "I have to deal with this, all of this, all alone, and this is my _job_ , Jim! This is what I _do_! And if I'm supposed to do this, help these people, I can not, I can _not_ have you going all caveman on me and going out to get your ass kicked every time you get _jealous_!" 

Jim was over to Blair and had him in his arms in a moment. He rocked his Guide back and forth as the shaman clung to him and wept, awful sobs being torn from the depths of his soul. Jim wanted to kill himself then and there from absolute shame; the only thing that stopped him was that his Guide needed him -- he'd needed him before and Jim hadn't been there, but he was here now and he was never, ever going to let Blair go again. He tried to think of something that would calm Blair down, some soothing little nonsense like the song Blair had sung to Kipu, but for some reason the only thing that came to mind was some old Janis Joplin number. "Cry, baby," Jim whispered, rocking Blair, petting him. "Cry, cry, baby..." 

Blair grabbed his shoulders, eyes wide. "Where did you hear that?" he hissed desperately. 

Jim reared back, shocked. "I... I don't know," he confessed. "It just came to me, I thought it would make you feel better. I'm sorry!" 

"Shit!" Blair whispered, taken aback, then took deep breaths and patted Jim on the chest. "No, it's okay, it's okay," he whispered -- more, Jim thought, to calm himself than anything else. He collapsed back against Jim and wiped his nose on the back of his wrist. "I just -- sorry, man, forget it for now. Too much crazy shit. Sorry, sorry man..." 

"I'm sorry," Jim insisted. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I was a fucking idiot, a caveman, you're right. I don't know, Chief -- I thought you were dead!" he said, and gripped him tighter. 

"What?" Blair blurted. "Is that when you hit the ground?" 

Jim nodded grimly. "I don't know why, I don't know how, but for a moment I could have sworn you ..." His voice caught and he was unable to continue. 

" ... drowned?" Blair whispered from the safety of Jim's arms. Jim nodded. Blair continued, "Shit, this is getting crazier by the minute, man... and that song ..." 

"How did you know it was a song?" Jim asked. 

"How did _you_ know it was a song?" Blair retorted. 

Jim shook his head. "I don't know -- it is a song, isn't it? It's been running through my head..." 

"Oh god," Blair groaned. "Naomi sang that all the damn time when I was really really small. It's the saddest fucking song, and she always made it sound so happy, it's like, no matter what kind of crap happened to us she could always turn it into some crazy great adventure. It still makes me feel... I don't know... safe, you know? And then _you_ \-- Oh god, this is weird, Jim," he groaned again. "No rest for the weird." 

"Then you must not be weird," Jim smiled, "because you're getting some rest right now. You need it." 

"I need you," whispered Blair, clinging to him. 

"You have me, Chief," Jim assured him, getting them both to their feet. He scooped Blair up into his arms. "I'm never going to let you down again, I promise." He placed him gently into the hammock, and turned, but Blair grabbed his arm. 

"No, man," he begged, "I need you, I need you with me now!" 

Jim knelt by the hammock and brushed Blair's hair from his eyes. "I'm just getting something to wash your snotty face with, misq'iy," he smiled. He waited as Blair tentatively released his arm, and stood back up. Returning with their water gourd and a couple of small cloths, he climbed in beside Blair and settled the smaller man against his chest. He held a cloth to Blair's face. "Blow," he said. 

Blair made a face at him and grabbed the cloth. He blew his nose with an emphatic honk. Ellison poured water onto the other cloth and wiped Blair's face gently, then took both cloths and placed them and the water gourd on the floor by the hammock. Folding Blair into his arms, he said, "Now sleep, okay? I'm right here." 

"I can't," protested Blair. "I should check on Kipu." But he snuggled against Jim and made no move to get up. 

Jim chuckled. "What did what's her name say? It takes a village? Let the village watch Kipu for a while, Chief. They'll take care of him. I'll take care of you, okay?" 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah, baby?" stroking his hair. 

"Could ... could we...? I mean," Blair said, looking up at him, a burden of hurt and mystery reflected in his shadowed blue eyes, "I really need you. I need to know I'm not ... dead." 

"Aw, Chief." Jim brought Blair's face up to his and kissed him gently. "You're not dead, you're the most alive person I've ever met." Kissed him again. "But you are exhausted. Are you sure you want to do this now?" 

"Please," pleaded Blair, running his hands over Jim's chest. "Please. I want you so bad." He pressed his lips to the base of Jim's throat. "I need to feel you," he murmured. "I need to feel you on top of me, all your weight on me." Licking and nuzzling along Jim's collarbone. "Please, fuck me, please," running his tongue down to a nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardening point. Breathing, "please." 

Jim groaned and shook his head back and forth. "Chief -- Blair! Please!" 

"Yes, please!" Blair sighed, smiling blissfully, eyes closed. 

"No!" 

Blair opened his eyes and stared at the Sentinel, who was uneasily avoiding his gaze. "No, Jim...? I mean, if you really don't want to right now, I understand, but..." 

"No, that's not it, it's just..." Jim trailed off, straining to speak, straining not to speak. 

"What's wrong, Jim?" Blair urged. 

"Nothing! Go to sleep!" 

Blair frowned. "Nothing, my ass, Tarzan. You're not the only one with eyes, you know. That muscle in your jaw is doing a tapdance, your nostrils are flaring like semaphore flags and your neck looks like it could support the Golden Gate Bridge. You think I can just roll over and go to sleep when your entire body is tight enough to bounce quarters off of? What kind of Guide would that make me? They'd take away my merit badge and secret decoder ring for sure!" 

Jim rolled them onto their sides, face to face. He stared penetratingly into Blair's eyes. "Blair," he croaked, tension evident in every line of his body. "Please don't -- I ... it ... please, it just --" he gasped, trying to say something unspeakable. "Can't. Wrong," he forced out, gripping Blair's arms, hoping Blair could understand something that he himself didn't even realize that he couldn't fathom until now. "Please." 

Blair looked at him thoughtfully, considering. Jim could practically see the gears turning in his head. "Do you want to fuck me?" Blair asked him seriously. "We did it once before." 

Jim nodded desperately. "Yes, before..." he groaned. 

"But not now." 

Jim squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "Hurts," he hissed. 

"Jim, look at me," Blair quietly commanded, and Jim's eyes snapped back open. "You want to do me, but you can't? It hurts even to think about it?" 

Jim nodded, staring at Blair like his eyes would bug out of his head, as if everything he couldn't say could be pushed directly into his Guide's mind through those icy clear blue eyes. 

Blair cursed under his breath. "No rest for the truly fucking weird," he grumbled. "We're back in serious mojo territory again, aren't we?" 

"I -- I don't know," Jim stammered. 

"No, no," Blair assured him, patting his arm. "I wasn't really asking you," he said thoughtfully. Then, as an afterthought, "Jim, let go of my arms, you're hurting me." Jim's hands immediately jerked away like they'd been burned. 

Blair rolled Jim onto his back and collapsed into his chest. And giggled. "Man, it never gets any easier, does it? You and I can't even just get laid like normal people!" He propped himself up on his elbows and poked Ellison in the chest. "You and I, my friend, are going to have a _serious_ talk about the time you spent here with Incacha." He felt Jim go tense under him and rushed to add, "Not now. But soon. Start letting that idea sink in, Jim, because I tell you right now we _are_ going to go there." As Jim slowly relaxed, he shook his head and confessed, "Frankly, dude, I don't think I could deal with any more of this shit right now. You're right, I am fucking exhausted, and you've just handed me a whooooole lot more wild shit to try and wrap my brain around." He laughed. "See, this is what I've been trying to tell you! What does a shaman do? He tries to wrap his brain around all this kind of wild shit! Damn! I am _never_ going to get any sleep!" He fell back on top of Ellison's chest, but just as Jim began to fold him into his arms, he popped back up again and looked down at him. "My mouth," he said. 

"Huh?" Jim asked. It was just getting to the point where he could think in words again, and he had trouble following some of Sandburg's intuitive leaps even when he was at his best. 

"My mouth," Blair repeated pointedly. "Your cock, my mouth. Shoved in there as far as it will go." He paused. "Does it hurt when you think about that?" 

"No," Jim gulped. 

Blair's mouth descended onto Jim's like a paratrooper from paradise. All Jim could do was surrender and let the troops storm in and take occupation. Surrender? Fuck that -- collaborate! He grabbed the back of Blair's head and pressed upward to his mouth, opening his lips and letting Blair's tongue take him. His other hand clutched at Blair's ass, which was already starting to clench and grind their awakening cocks together. Jim fought the fierce urge to wrap his legs around his Guide by rolling them over onto their sides and attacking Blair's tongue with his own. Stabbing and thrusting, he crushed their mouths together, feeling more than hearing his mate's blissful moan vibrate through them both, and was filled with a surge of pleasure that he was able to give the man he loved this, at least. Blair wanted Jim to take him, and he could do that, do anything Blair wanted, anything for Blair. 

He made himself focus on the swollen, juicy lips that would be taking in his cock. Growling, he chewed into Blair's lower lip almost hard enough to break skin. Blair hissed sharply and pulled his mouth away, but Jim seized a handful of his hair and forced them back together again for a moment before he released him and said roughly, "Want it, misq'iy?" 

Soundlessly, deep in his throat, Blair moaned, /yes... hard.../ 

Jim used the handful of Blair's hair to shove his head down, let Blair run his tongue between his pecs and down the heaving, well-defined washboard of his abdomen. His dick felt like a red-hot bar of steel trapped by his loincloth -- until suddenly it was free and engulfed in the burning-cool wetness of Blair's mouth. 

"Aaaaah, yeah," Jim moaned, reflexively jerking his hips forward. Blair flinched and gagged, making a gargly noise, and Jim tried to yank backwards, but Blair's hands reached around him and grabbed his ass, not letting him go. Blair's teeth ever-so-barely scraped up the length of Jim's massive erection as he pulled his mouth back, catching his breath with a slurp. Then a wet, feverish tongue was circling around the head of his cock, flicking and dancing maddeningly over the crown and the tiny slit. Teeth tenderly nibbled at the sensitive spot just beneath the underside of the head and Jim's tactile sense went crazy -- he could feel everything else in the world start to fade into white light, and to catch himself he ran his fingers through a head of beautiful, thick, curly, fragrant hair as his mate's glorious mouth closed around him once again. 

"Suck," he growled, as much to keep himself conscious as anything else. "Take it, fuck it, you want it." Thrust himself forward -- Blair had said "shoved in as far as it will go" and that's exactly what he was going to get, dammit, exactly what he wanted, he wanted it, wanted it... "I know what you want, you want it, want it, yes," he panted recklessly. 

Blair moaned, Jim's cock deep in his throat, and the moan resonated through Jim's body like an earthquake. Jim drilled himself forward over and over again, fucking deep into Blair's eager mouth as hard as he could, and beautiful wonderful Blair was taking it, loving it, breathing hard through his nose, moaning in his throat and digging his fingers into the tight muscles of Jim's driving ass. He felt Blair's legs curl up to entwine with his, humping his erection against Jim's legs; Jim caught it between his knees and did his best to grind against it, wanting to pleasure his mate as well as he could when his brains were being sucked out his dick and the earth was churning and every hair on Blair's head was stroking his fingers and his cock was swelling and swelling into nothing but heat and that devastating tongue -- 

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" he roared, one brutal thrust with every word, and everything, the whole fucking universe convulsed and erupted into the whimpering, slavering, blistering throat that took it all, all of it, drinking him down ecstatically as the body beneath him writhed and spasmed and groaned into a climax of its own. 

They lay there gasping while the tremors subsided. Jim's fingers continued to flicker reflexively through Blair's tangled hair; Blair purred and nudged his head up at the petting hands as he blissfully nuzzled at Jim's deflating cock, unable to stop, softly mumbling and suckling like a puppy at the teat, as if his Sentinel's essence could nourish and sustain him like water and air. But right now Jim was too hypersensitive to let him continue; he gently ran his hands down his Guide's face and cupped his chin, urging him to squirm up the hammock until he was settled into Jim's arms, right where he belonged, the vital Guide heartbeat pounding against his chest as it pounded within. 

"I think I can sleep now," Blair mumbled, smiling. 

"I certainly fucking hope so," Jim grumped, twitching a little smile of his own. He listened peaceably as his mate's heartbeat slowed, his own slowing in time with it, his own breath easing and deepening as his mate's eased. 

"Jim?" 

"Am I going to have to duct tape your mouth shut for you to get any sleep?" 

"No, man, listen, I forgot to tell you," Blair protested drowsily, his breath teasing over Jim's chest. "It's good news." 

"What now?" Jim sighed. 

"Riri -- she's going to ask my mom to talk to the chief's wife for her, so the chief's wife can talk to the chief and the chief can talk to Qisa's dad," Blair babbled, eyes still shut. "Riri and Qisa are getting sick and tired of having to pretend to ignore each other." He sighed happily and snuggled against Jim. "There'll be a wedding soon." 

"That's great, Chief," Jim smiled indulgently, stroking down his sleepy shaman's shoulder. "That's the way it should be. Love should be forever." 

Blair stirred restlessly. "Forever..." he mumbled half-unconsciously. "Forever... man, that's scary, man, that's a really long time, forever..." 

Jim thought a moment, then he kissed the top of his mate's head and said, "Tomorrow we'll watch the sun rise, misq'iy. Tomorrow, and the next day, and every day for the rest of our lives." 

He felt all the tension leave Blair's body as it settled back against him. "That I can do," sighed the shaman, and finally, finally fell asleep in his Sentinel's arms in the warmth of the glowing sun. 

\----------to be continued-------------


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What *really* happened to Captain Ellison when he was stranded for 18 months in the jungles of Peru with Incacha and the Chopec tribe?  
> Archived on 12/12/99

## The Rules of Attraction Part 7

by spiderine

* * *

The Rules of Attraction 

Part 7 

Disclaimer: Characters from "The Sentinel" series belong to Pet Fly. My imagination belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended; passion is its own reward. The origin story of the jaguar is a real South American folktale in the public domain. 

WARNING: Attention! Serious Mojo Weirdness Ahead! Some people might find this installment rather kinky or upsetting. Characters you know and love may appear to be behaving in very uncharacteristic fashions. This is rated a big fat NC-17, and not just for sex! 

Notes: 1) This story takes place at some undetermined time in the third season, after "Warriors" but before "Sentinel Too". It is part 7 of an ongoing work. 2) My apologies to any Quechua speakers for mangling such a beautifully expressive language. I'm trying my best. 3) Feedback feeds the Muse. 4) It's all Nikolaia's fault. 

* * *

Translation note: Since I'm using a lot of Quechua in this one, for  
clarity's sake I'm putting English translations in [brackets].

* * *

The Sentinel came to the hut at sundown, as bidden. He'd built the domed hut the day before with his own hands, out of bent branches thatched with broad leaves and bracken. Nine feet in diameter -- Sandburg had specified that: "Three threes, man, one of the primal numbers of the Universe." He'd directed Ellison to show up the next day at sundown, unclothed, unpainted, freshly bathed, and having fasted on water only for at least 12 hours. Then he left Ellison to it. 

Last night he'd slept in the men's house, as Blair had insisted. That alone had filled Ellison with such profound foreboding that not eating had proved no problem at all. 

Jim hadn't really seen Sandburg in almost two days. Not that Blair hadn't been around, but he'd been in almost constant consultation with the chief, the tribal elders and the other old people in the village. Jim had seen him, of course, in the village it was impossible not to see him, but he'd been busy listening intently to the old folks, asking questions, gesturing articulately as always, and Jim hadn't disturbed him. Hadn't even eavesdropped, no matter how much he'd been tempted. Had relied on the steady, calming presence of the second heartbeat in his chest to reassure him that all was well and to prevent his growing anxiety from reaching a level that would force him to seek Blair out and drag him away into the forest where his Guide would be his and his alone. 

It wasn't even a sexual thing. Well, not _only_ a sexual thing. What it felt like was a rubber band being stretched to its breaking point, or maybe like a vital part of him was suddenly missing, but being dangled just out of reach. Not being able to touch Blair, even casually, was giving Jim the dizzying feeling that there was a hole in the very air around him. A hole maybe two paces behind him and to the right. A bouncing, yakking, five-foot-seven-inch Sandburg-shaped hole. 

And sleeping alone last night... well, shit. Sleeping without a warm Blair-weight settled against his chest, without Blair-breath teasing across his throat, without even the goddamn hair that somehow always found its way into Jim's mouth -- it was useless. 

Intapu had propositioned him last night. Just, you know, a friendly buddy-fuck kinda thing, nothing serious. Ellison had almost decked him. Hadn't, of course -- he'd simply thanked him for the compliment and politely declined. But for a moment there... Almost. 

So here he was -- naked, hungry, groggy from lack of sleep, feeling grumpy and weirdly incomplete. It was strange -- maybe he'd been among the Chopec long enough that their customs were rubbing off on him, but damn if he didn't feel more self-conscious about not being painted than he did about not being clothed. He glanced around briefly to where Qisa sat a few yards away, back to a tree. The hunter was relaxed, but armed to the teeth. He acknowledged Jim with a quick nod and a small smile, then looked away. No matter what would happen in the hut -- and god only knew what that would be, or maybe god and Sandburg -- Qisa would guard them from any outside threat. 

The mat covering the entrance to the hut was pushed aside, and the shaman emerged, surrounded by a puff of pungent smoke escaping from within. 

It was Blair, of course -- Jim knew that. But somehow it wasn't. The tattoo on his chest -- and yeah, it was Blair, there was the nipple ring with the wolf's tooth dangling from it -- had healed fully, and Jim could finally see that yes, it was beautiful: a strongly stylized wolf's paw and claws done in blue-black ink, overlaid with pale scars in the outline of a snarling panther head. His face was painted, as always, but it was more than that -- the shaman was naked, and almost every inch of visible skin had been covered with painted marks. Jim recognized some of the symbols as marks the hunters used: zig-zag lines representing wolf's teeth ran down his arms and legs, alternating with the undulating lines that meant python and rows of jaguar spots. His chest, stomach and groin were covered with a pattern of waves, spirals, chevrons and crosses that Jim didn't understand. His penis and scrotum had been stained with red ochre, the blood of the earth. 

It was an unnerving sight, made more so by Jim's sudden, surprising conviction that it _wasn't_ Blair. Which was ridiculous. Jim reached out with his senses for other signs of his Guide's presence. And found his answer: Blair didn't smell like Blair. Somehow he'd masked his personal scent and become overlaid with woodsmoke and aromatic herbs and decaying leaves. Blair smelled like the whole forest. It was as if he as a person wasn't there at all. 

The shaman stood and let him look, scent, take in his centered, strangely forceful presence. Met Jim's eyes with his own, dazzling blue glittering from a frame of red lightning. Infinitely blue, vast, boundless as the ocean, like deep, deep water... 

For a long, frozen moment Jim felt profoundly afraid. But the vital second heartbeat was still there, throbbing in his chest like a pulse emanating from the core of the earth. Like an anchor to the center of the universe -- and that center stood before him, radiating ancient power. 

/Enqueri,/ the shaman said subvocally, /kusitampa kay hamunkichu?/ [Do you come here of your own free will?] 

The shaman's words came to him soundlessly, spoken on the wind. And from some primal depths within him came the ritual response. "Ari, Pasukulay, kusitan qonqoriykimi." [Yes, my Guide, I submit to you willingly.] 

The shaman shook his head. /Manan, Kamayuqy, yachaqtipaq n~awpakunaq qonqorinkichu./ [No, my Sentinel, you submit to the wisdom of the ancients.] He held aside the mat covering the entrance to the hut. /Yakumuy yuyayri./ [Enter and remember.] 

Ellison ducked inside and immediately went into a coughing fit, overwhelmed by clouds of spicy smoke. Through his blinking, teary eyes he could see that the dusky interior of the hut was carpeted with mats and rugs surrounding a tripod and brazier over the center fire. Some of the smoke from whatever was burning in the brazier was escaping out the smoke hole in the roof and between the cracks in the thatching, but most of it was contained in the hut and overpowering his senses. 

The roof of the hut was too low to let him stand. Squatting on the mat, Ellison cursed himself for not making it higher, way higher, high enough to let the smoke rise and let him breathe. 

The shaman squatted across the fire from him. /Relax, Enqueri,/ he said in English, smiling slightly, not coughing at all. /Breathe deep. Let the smoke take you and pass through you./ 

Yeah, right. 

The shaman started gesturing to embrace the hut, his painted arms dancing, broad and slow in the flickering firelight. /Kitikay, mana kiti,/ he said, /kutikay, mana kuti./ [This place is no place, this time is no time.] /Kaypin kancheq chawpi pachakuna, n~awpakunaq suchikaypin./ [Here we are between worlds, in the presence of the ancients.] 

The arms lifted to the ceiling: /Patan n~oqancheqta./ [Above us.] Sank to the floor: /Uran n~oqancheqta./ [Below us.] Gestured in a circle encompassing himself and the Sentinel: /N'tinta n~oqancheqta./ [All through us.] 

/Chawpinpi win~aykay./ [And in the eternal center.] A gesture toward the fire -- there was a sudden _flash_ as sparks seemed to fly from the shaman's fingers and the fire flared briefly before settling back down. 

It was a trick, of course, it had to be a trick. But the pungent smoke was difficult to see through, and making it practically impossible for Jim to filter scents or discern how the trick had been done. It was also making Jim feel lightheaded, and not just from oxygen deprivation \-- there was something _in_ that smoke, he was sure. 

The shaman watched him with a tiny, sly smile. He picked up a small bowl of liquid, took a sip, and handed it across the fire to Ellison. Jim concentrated and sniffed it, and thought he could pick up something sweet, something smoky, and just the slightest hint of that strange composty stuff that had knocked Sandburg half out of his skull. He glanced across the fire; the shaman's glittering blue eyes narrowed, and he nodded authoritatively. Ellison sipped, and the shaman kept nodding until Ellison finished the entire cup and passed it back. 

/Lie back, Enqueri. Relax. Don't worry,/ the shaman said in English, gesturing to where folded rugs had been prepared into a bed and a cushion for his head. So Jim lay down, sure, but as for not worrying -- forget that. 

From where he lay, he could no longer see the shaman, but he could still hear his voice, silently wafted on the air. /Now relax, close your eyes, breathe deep. Listen to my voice, Enqueri, focus on my voice... only my voice... breathe in and out, nice and slow, and hear only my voice.../ The silent voice was slow, low and compelling, not unlike the tone Blair used to bring Jim out of a zone, but with one vital difference -- Blair wasn't touching him. Jim couldn't smell him. The only contact Jim had with his Guide was through that heartbeat, that potent voice, and he reached for it as for a lifeline. 

It continued: /Breathe in, breathe out... so relaxing... like sinking into a bath, warm and deep, relaxing... so deep... breathe in, breathe out, going deeper... heavy, feel so heavy, so good... couldn't move if you tried... too good to move, too deep... try to lift your arm, Enqueri, you can't do it.../ 

Like being filled with warm water, around him, through him... so deep... he tried to lift his arm but the water was too heavy... too deep... so relaxed, so good... 

/It's time to go back, Enqueri... you can go back now, you feel good and relaxed and it's easy to go back now... it's easy to remember now, when you wake up you'll remember whatever you want, you'll forget whatever you want, no pressure, no fear... but now you remember, it's easy to remember, there's no fear... you can speak to me, it's so easy to speak, there's no fear... say yes if you hear me, say yes if you understand me.../ 

Barely whispered, "yes..." 

/Good, Enqueri... now tell me... how did you meet Incacha?/ 

Rolling his head on the folded rug, Jim exhaled a little moan, but whispered, "stopped me... from eating a bullet..." 

* * *

The world had gone crazy, the world was on fire. The sunlight was like acid, his clothes were like sandpaper, the sounds of the jungle around him like a shrieking buzzsaw. He was lost in a fetid, stinking fog, the odor of decay and shit making it impossible to breathe without gagging, and his own breath roared in his ears like a waterfall. He couldn't walk, he couldn't stand, he couldn't lie down on ground that felt like boulders of jagged glass. He was dying, he was going crazy... 

He had buried the burnt, mutilated bodies of his seven closest companions with nothing but his own hands and an entrenching tool. 

The Huey was toast, the comm system a charred hunk of wires and metal. He'd barely gotten out before the ammo ignited and the whole fucking thing went up in an apocalyptic blast of flame. No weapons, no supplies, no radio, no maps, nothing but what he carried on his own back. 

And the burnt, mutilated bodies of his seven closest companions, to be buried as best he could with nothing but his own hands and an entrenching tool. 

Somewhere out there was a tribe of neolithic savages that had to be contacted and formed into a trained militia. He had his orders. The fact that he was alone now meant nothing. He would find them, organize them, take up a defensive position at the head of the Pass. 

He possessed one standard issue M-16 assault rifle with a full magazine and four more clips on his rig. One standard issue M-9 sidearm with one full magazine and four more clips on his rig. One machete. Standard issue survival gear. Rations that would last him a week if he stretched them. His training and his wits. 

And the burnt, mutilated bodies of his seven closest companions, to be buried as best he could with nothing but his own hands and an entrenching tool. 

Lt. Adler had been their translator. He was the only one who'd had any more than the most rudimentary knowledge of the local dialect. Ellison made a mental note that on future missions, each and every man under his command would be drilled in basic dialect vocabulary. Not that that would help him now. 

Five days after the crash -- five days of navigating by dead reckoning and glimpses of the sun through the canopy, five days of living on grubs and lizards to stretch both his rations and his ammo, five days of the shits from eating unfamiliar fruit, drinking unfamiliar water, had to stay hydrated even though he was out of iodine water-treatment tabs and couldn't boil water when he had to ration matches -- he was still unable to locate the natives. And the world had gone crazy. 

Captain Ellison understood combat stress. The mind could play tricks on you when you were isolated like this, and the shock of losing his men... seven good men, the finest, lost uselessly, wastefully... 

At this point in his career, Captain Ellison was not a naive man. He'd lost men before, and god knew he'd seen death. Caused plenty. Death was how he earned his wages, and not something to be whined about. But not like this, not this lousy fucking waste, not when he'd had the dubious luck to walk away from the crash without so much as a scratch, not when what remained of seven crushed faces silently screamed accusations, what was left of seven pairs of eyes clouded and burst like poached eggs. Small wonder the whole world had gone mad, and he with it. But that didn't make it any easier. 

Couldn't walk, couldn't stand, couldn't lie down. Couldn't even open his eyes. Couldn't touch anything, could hardly breathe. Couldn't hunt. Couldn't find water. Couldn't even scream. Staggering blindly through the jungle, assaulted by the very air, until he finally collapsed on his back, trembling, weeping like a girl, caustic tears burning down his cheeks. A white-hot laser was drilling through his skull, and it was getting worse and worse, not better. He couldn't carry out his mission like this. He couldn't live like this. He was exposed and vulnerable to capture, unable to defend himself, in possession of priceless classified information. He knew his duty. 

Fumbling at his belt, he found his sidearm. The rough diamond patterning of the grip rasped his hands, torturing every nerve. Clumsily, trembling, eyes still closed, he managed to chamber a round. The clack of the action snapping back blasted through his skull, almost causing him to drop the pistol. But Captain Ellison knew his duty. He clutched the gun in both shaking hands and put the barrel in his mouth. 

Time to be careful. Aim too low, and he might live, but paralyzed from the neck down. Too high, and he might live, but as a mindless vegetable. Either meant a slow, horrid death from blood loss and infection and shock \-- no better than he deserved for losing his men. But if he could go cleanly, he would. He cursed the fucking army for not issuing hollow-points that would blow his head clean off. 

Even the taste of the gun in his mouth tortured him. He could taste the fucking metal, the oily residue of gun cleaner, the acrid tang of powder solvent, even infinitesimal traces of powder -- and absurdly, he was offended, he'd always thought he'd kept his weapons in pristine condition. The metal was cold against his teeth and tongue, oily and cold, acrid and cold, smoky, oily and cold, cold spreading through his body, cold, so cold, so cold... 

... cold, something damp on his forehead, covering his eyes, dark and cool and soothing, quiet, the pain was gone, the hell was gone and it was quiet. Dead? Callused, gentle hands stroking his head -- _hands_! 

Ellison snapped awake and into a sitting position, and met a smiling face. The hands came up, palms towards Ellison, patting the air, saying calm down, calm down. The face was mahogany brown, painted with a skull-shaped mask of red, pierced by shrewd coffee-brown eyes, framed by straight black hair strung with beads and red twine. It belonged to a wiry, muscular body dressed in a long woven loincloth. 

The man smiled and tapped himself on the chest. "Incacha," he said, and pointed at Ellison. 

Ellison nodded warily. "Ellison, James J. Captain, United States Army Airborne Rangers. OD8731." 

The man cocked his head and smiled, "Elisu?" 

Ellison nodded. "Ellison. Where's my pistol?" 

Still smiling, the man shook his head. 

Ellison tried him in Spanish: "Donde esta mi pistole?" 

The man -- Incacha, Ellison reminded himself -- shook his head. Ellison cocked his fingers like a gun. "Bang, bang." He spread his arms and looked around: where? 

Incacha's eyes narrowed. He imitated Ellison's gesture of the gun, and put the fingers of the barrel into his mouth. Then removed them and made a sharp chopping gesture, shaking his head. "Ama!" 

Ellison sighed. Now that the hell was over and he was back in control of himself, such a thing was not even to be contemplated. He had his orders. He knew his duty. This Incacha would be his first contact in this area. He imitated Incacha's chopping gesture and shook his head. "No. Ama." 

Incacha smiled and nodded. He reached behind him and brought forth Ellison's pistol, gingerly offering it in his palm, flat and sideways. It was still cocked, the safety off. 

Shit, Ellison thought, the savage could have killed himself. He took the pistol, dropped out the magazine, and pumped the round from the chamber. It leapt out onto the ground, and Ellison picked it up, intending to thumb it back into the magazine. But he held it for a moment, pondering what he'd almost done, then slipped it into the pocket of his fatigues. That one was a good luck charm if ever there was one. He snapped the magazine back into place and holstered the pistol. He smiled and nodded, holding his palms up, making a little bow. "Thank you, Incacha." 

Incacha nodded. "Yusulpayki," he said slowly and distinctly, gesturing to Ellison to repeat the word. 

"Yusulpayki, Incacha," Ellison said, and was rewarded with the man's brilliant smile. 

* * *

The shaman smiled gently. /Sounds like the beginning of a beautiful friendship./ 

"no," Jim whispered, shifting restlessly on his pallet. "no... wouldn't let me contact the tribe, wouldn't let me leave..." 

/Wouldn't let you?/ 

"no!" Tension rippled through the entranced body. 

/Shhh, Enqueri, shhh... it's all right, relax... relax... no pain here, no fear... breathe in, breathe out.../ The shaman watched as Jim obeyed his suggestions, sighing, his body slowly slackening. /Tell me more, Enqueri./ 

" _tried_ to leave..." Jim softly insisted. "foolish... savage didn't understand -- _I_ didn't understand... the hell -- zones! all the time, no control... found me again, brought me back again, again, again..." An ugly frown came over his face. "so angry, so stubborn..." 

/You were angry? Stubborn?/ asked the shaman, smiling, thinking, oh yeah, never had to deal with _that_ before, have we? 

"stupid, stubborn... took my weapons, my clothes -- hid them!" He started to thrash at the memory. 

/Shhh, Enqueri, it's all right, just a memory.../ the shaman crooned as the Sentinel's body eased under his words, /it's okay to remember, easy to remember, easy to speak, it's safe here, there's no pain, no fear... tell me now, tell me how he kept you from leaving.../ 

* * *

Ellison came out of yet another eternity in the hell to find himself naked and hog-tied, back arched, wrists and ankles securely lashed behind him. He immediately started roaring and thrashing against his bonds. It felt like he was tied with some kind of rawhide or leather that had been soaked and shrunk as it dried to make it impossible to squirm loose. He'd been moved into some kind of domed hut made from bent branches and thatched with broad leaves and bracken. 

Across the fire sat Incacha, who watched his struggles with gentle amusement. This had been the third time he'd found the soldier lost in the forest under the curse of the mysterious powers he'd refused to let himself understand. Incacha been reasonable before, but now he knew better. 

"My fucking clothes!" the soldier bellowed. "My rifle, my pistol, you fucking bastard! What have you done with them?" 

Incacha smiled and shook his head, shrugged to show he didn't understand. Started the lessons yet again. 

He pointed to his eye. "N~awi." He held his hand like a visor over his eyes, mimed peering around. "Rikuy." He pointed at Ellison. 

"Fuck you!" the soldier screamed. 

Incacha shrugged again. Pointed to his eye, mimed peering around. "N~awi. Rikuy." He pointed again at Ellison. 

This time the soldier just glared at him, growling under his breath. 

Incacha shrugged again. Reached behind him and pulled out a roasted bird. Started eating. 

It smelled good. Real good. Ellison could smell the fat, the crispy skin, the smoky flesh. He realized that he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten -- no way of telling how long he'd been lost in the hell. He was starving. Goddamn fucking savage hadn't fed him. "Give me some of that," he snarled. 

Incacha looked up, smiling innocently, and shrugged to show he didn't understand. Started gnawing on a drumstick. 

Ellison's cold blue eyes narrowed. Starving himself wouldn't get him anything, not if he was going to get out of here. "N~awi," he snapped. 

Incacha looked up and smiled. Waited. 

Ellison sighed. "N~awi. Rikuy," he spat. 

Incacha nodded. Mimed eating some more. "Mikhuna," he said, and nodded to the soldier, waiting. 

"Mikhuna," Ellison growled. 

Incacha smiled and held the food behind his back, prompting, "Allichu..." like a mother asking for the Magic Word. 

Staring daggers, Ellison grumbled, "Mikhuna... allichu." 

With a brilliant smile, Incacha peeled some juicy meat from the bone and carefully offered it to the soldier from the palm of his hand. Ellison snapped it up in his teeth and bolted it down, hardly bothering to taste or chew. Growled for more. Incacha peeled off more meat and held it up, waiting. 

Again, Ellison muttered, "Mikhuna, allichu." 

Several times, Incacha fed him from the palm of his hand, insisting each time that Ellison ask for his food politely. When the food was gone, he met the soldier's gaze with raised eyebrows, prompting once again: and what do you say? 

"Yusulpayki," mumbled Ellison. Incacha smiled and nodded, and stroked the soldier's head, neck and shoulder. Ellison thrashed and snarled at him, but Incacha kept petting him, and despite himself, Ellison soon began responding to the soothing caress. His struggles slowed to quiet shudders and his screaming protests gentled to subdued growls low in his throat. Under the tranquil spell of Incacha's compelling hands, Captain Ellison fell into his first decent sleep since the crash. 

Sleep was good, he hadn't realized how exhausted he'd been, but if Ellison thought being fed from Incacha's hand was humiliating... well, hours later, squirming with discomfort, he learned the real meaning of humiliation when Incacha placed a bowl under him and waited patiently. Ellison held out as long as he could, then closed his eyes and, burning with mortification, let go. He kept his eyes closed as Incacha cleaned him fore and aft. When Incacha left the hut to empty and clean the bowl, he didn't even try to untie himself. 

Days and nights in that hut -- how many, Ellison couldn't know. Days and nights spent begging for every scrap of food and drop of water. Memorizing and repeating Incacha's words, and not being allowed even to beg for food until he'd learned the lesson perfectly. Relying on Incacha to tend every function of his body. Sleeping and waking to the sound of that voice, the touch of those hands, and the scent of the man who controlled his entire universe. 

Ellison found that somewhere in there he'd started listening for the voice, searching for the hands. They could calm the terrors that plagued him every night, bring him back from the hell that still claimed him unexpectedly, constantly. And Ellison found that even more calming than Incacha's voice and hands was Incacha's scent and the sound of the heartbeat he'd discovered he could hear in Incacha's chest; it was a constant solid presence that he could find and focus on even in the midst of the hell. The signpost that pointed the way home. Though just when the hut in the forest had become home, Ellison couldn't have said. 

The hands stroked him to sleep every night, caressing his back and shoulders, arms and legs, head and neck and chest. Massaged the stiff, cramping limbs that Incacha refused to set free -- and somewhere in there Ellison realized that the caress was more important than freedom, that he'd stopped scheming for escape and wondered only when the hands would touch him again. Started thinking of ways to please Incacha enough so that he would touch him again. And rather than struggling and snarling against the hands, found himself nudging his head under them, squirming into the touch, purring. Losing himself in Incacha's hands, his scent, his voice, his heartbeat. 

The night when the hands finally petted down the front of his body to caress his penis Ellison lost it completely. He'd left most rational thought behind long before, retaining just enough to learn Incacha's lessons and please his hands, but thirty years of socialization were hard to shake. For the first time in... how long?... he fought the touch, railed against it, screamed, "Ama! Allichu, ama!" But the more he struggled, the more the was brought into contact with the stroking hands. The touch was maddening, ceaseless, and soon Ellison found his body was betraying him, what he'd thought were struggles against the hands had become desperate thrusts toward them. His screams became sobs, he was still begging Incacha to stop, but Incacha's scent was all around him, his voice crooning sweet encouragement, and Ellison's traitorous body writhed into the touch, arched into the sure touch of the hands that had restrained him and comforted him, captured and caressed him, taken him, tamed him, the hands that had come to rule his entire existence. Sobbing, shuddering, fighting against his own mind, Ellison's body yielded to those hands and climaxed explosively, pulsing semen all over them. 

As Ellison's sobs quieted to whimpers and his shudders settled into small trembles, the hands were brought to his face and Ellison obediently lapped his own semen from them, cleaning them, licking the palms and sucking the fingers, and the only even remotely rational thought in the soldier's head was the hope that his captor was pleased with him. 

* * *

Holy shit, thought the shaman, mind boggling. He'd heard of this -- every student of anthropology, sociology or psychology knew about Stockholm Syndrome, a kind of brainwashing not uncommon in hostage situations where the prisoner becomes so dependent on his captors that he grows to love them. 

The shaman didn't know what to think. It was coercive. It was wrong. But on the other hand, he recognized that it had been the only way for Incacha to get Jim to a point where the soldier would even accept his help. Ellison had gone into the jungle a coldly pragmatic killer; isolation, grief and the shock of his reawakening senses had turned him into a cornered animal. Incacha had had to break the soldier down completely in order to help him. And he'd done it easily, without any training in modern psychological technique. 

Shit, thought the shaman -- and I thought _I'd_ had to do it the hard way! 

* * *

When Incacha released Ellison's legs, the tiny liberty terrified the soldier. He hoped he hadn't done anything wrong, and was relieved when his hands were retied behind his back. After massaging and stretching his legs, Incacha led him stumbling from the hut for the first time in ... how long? 

Instantly, Ellison was hit by an incinerating blast of sunlight. He screamed and his knees buckled; he fell to the ground and tried to curl himself into a ball, tried to hide himself from the acid sun. 

The hands touched him and he curled into them and buried his head in them. He searched frantically for the vital heartbeat and found it, calm and steady. Found the voice, sweet as cool water. "Samay, salqamichiy... sakumay...," it sang, low and compelling, to the rhythm of the stroking hands and beating heart. "Intillan, manan atikunchu k'iriynki." [Rest, my wildcat... relax... It's only the sun, it can't hurt you.] 

"Rup'an!" [It burns!] 

"Saqenkillaqa," the voice softly insisted. [Only if you let it.] 

Ellison butted his head into the petting hands and whimpered. 

"Shhh, salqamichiy," Incacha smiled, "qharikuna kanchis, ninata ruanchis, payta ruaranchis, qa?" [Shhh, my wildcat, we are men, we build the fire, we can put it out, right?] 

"Allichu!" the soldier sobbed. 

"Simiway uyariy, salqamichiy... Uru ninata churay..." [Listen to my voice, my wildcat... Put water on the flame...] 

Gently the voice continued, instructing the soldier to imagine the flame growing smaller and smaller until it was merely a warm glow. A tiny flame that he could make grow bigger and smaller at will. He could control the flame, Incacha insisted. And Ellison knew that he would do anything to please Incacha. Slowly, under the guidance of that voice and those hands, Ellison found that he could do it -- that as the flame in his mind grew smaller, the burning against his skin and eyes was eased until Ellison was lying in the warmth of a glowing, friendly sun and his sobs were of pure relief. 

"Yusulpayki, yusulpayki," he gasped, and wiped the tears from his eyes. With his own hands. His eyes snapped open and he held his weakly trembling hands before him as if he had never seen them before. He looked up and was met by Incacha's warm smile, as warm as the sun above, and gently reached out to touch his face. 

Incacha took his hand. "Yachachisqayki, salqamichiy. Amaut'a sutiwanki." [I will teach you, my wildcat. Call me Teacher.] 

The soldier pulled the hands to his face and kissed them. "Amaut'ay," he pledged. [My Teacher.] 

His Teacher nodded and added, "Enqueri sutikunkiri." [And you will be called Enqueri.] 

"Ari, Amaut'ay," said the soldier. "Enquerimi sutiy." [Yes, my Teacher. I am Enqueri.] 

His Teacher grinned. "Salqamichiyrin kankipuni." [But you will always be my wildcat.] 

* * *

/Teacher?/ asked the shaman. /Not Guide?/ 

"no..." the Sentinel whispered in a low moan. "another... he said there would be another..." he shifted on the pallet, "born for me, he said... he said... when I returned... to the city of falling water... I would be Guided by the Laughing Wolf..." 

Laughing Wolf. In Quechua, that would be Asikatuq. The shaman's tribal name. 

Oh. Wow. 

* * *

Once Incacha had shown him how to subdue his rioting senses by controlling the flame in his mind, the real lessons could begin. Now Enqueri ran on four legs as often as on two. He could find water by scent alone. He could hear termites chewing through a fallen log. He could locate, stalk and take down any animal Incacha chose, using hands and wits to snare small, quick birds, or fangs and claws to fell aggressive boars and shy forest deer, returning to lay his prey proudly at his Teacher's feet. If Enqueri behaved himself, Incacha would stroke him to climax. If he was very good, he would be allowed to take his Teacher in his mouth. He learned quickly and well. 

In Incacha's world, reality was what one made of it. He had been trained by a shaman who could become a hawk whenever he chose. So it was easy for him to recognize and hone his student's gifts. If Enqueri saw himself wearing fangs and fur, then whether he actually did so on this most boring plane of existence made no difference at all. When Incacha followed his student on the hunt, he could plainly see the flicking tail, the twitching ears, the whiskers and silent footfalls of the great black cat. What someone from a different culture might have seen when watching the same thing was unknowable, because no one else was there to see. 

Incacha removed the deer's liver from the roasting spit and settled back down on the log he was using for a seat. Slicing off a small chunk of meat, he offered it to Enqueri sitting beside him on the ground, who delicately ate it from his hand and licked his fingers clean, then wiped his own bloody mouth on the back of his wrist. 

"You like running on four legs, don't you, my kitten?" Incacha said fondly. 

"Hunting is good," replied Enqueri, laying his head on his Teacher's knee and blinking dreamily at the fire. 

Incacha scratched him behind the ear. "And you are a strong hunter, but I think you should remember that your stomach is a man's no matter what shape you take. From now on, wait until your meat is cooked before you eat it." 

Enqueri shrugged and wrinkled his nose. "I smelled men in the forest today. I will bring you their livers, and we will eat them cooked." He turned and nuzzled his head into his Teacher's thigh. "May I please suck you now?" 

"No," Incacha smiled. "Those men are of our tribe and not your proper prey. I think it's time for you to meet them, since you're starting to remember that you're a hunter of men. But even a hunter of men does not feed on men, salqamichiy." 

"Then I won't," Enqueri shrugged again. It made no difference to him, but he would do as his Teacher wished. 

"Spoken like a true jaguar," chuckled the shaman. "When the ancient spirits made men, they called the animals together to find out whether the new beings would be considered prey. One after the other, the animals told the spirits that men had no claws, no armor, and would make easy quarry. So from one animal, they removed the fangs, squashed the legs and stretched out its nose until it was unable to kill men, and that animal became the anteater. From another animal, they removed both fangs and claws, and made it timid enough to run from men instead of chase them. That animal became the deer. Finally, the only animal left saw what had become of the others, and told the ancients, 'I would never prey on men.' So the spirits believed him, and let him keep his fangs and claws. That animal became the jaguar, which kept its devious nature as well as its taste for human flesh, and still attacks men to this day." He tugged sharply on Enqueri's ear. "Don't let me find that you've lied to me, wildcat." 

"Never, Amaut'ay." 

"Good. Now you may do as you asked, if you still wish." 

Enqueri quickly scrambled between Incacha's legs and reached beneath the folded layers of his Teacher's loincloth. He found the long, relatively slender length to be still dormant, and took it into his mouth, suckling with happy little purrs until it awakened and swelled to stiffness. He drew back and ran his tongue under the delicate foreskin covering the head, nipping the folded flesh gently and smiling to hear his Teacher catch his breath, then sucking the shaft back deep into his mouth, stretching back the foreskin and letting the swallowing motions of his throat massage the sensitive crown. As Incacha stroked him behind his ears, Enqeri unconsciously clasped his hands behind his back, using only his eager mouth and throat to suck and pull. Sometimes he missed the time when his Teacher had kept him tied up and cared for him so completely, even though he knew his liberty was a sign of his Teacher's trust. Giving up the use of his hands this way let him feel his Teacher's power even as Incacha let him feel his pleasure with gentle thrusts into the back of his throat. It was good, better than the hunt, better than warm fire or cool water, even better than the nights when his Teacher brought him to climax with his hands and let him fall asleep beside him. 

Thinking of those strong hands, he growled softly, letting the low rumbles stimulate his Teacher further. He drew back and lightly ran his teeth up the shaft, then let the stiffness fall from his lips so he could rub it against his face and lick along its length, filling himself with the heady aroma of musk. He moved so he could straddle one of Incacha's legs, tentatively rubbing his own erection against his Teacher's warm, lightly-haired skin, and Incacha encouraged him by stretching his leg under him, giving him better contact. Enqueri humped the offered leg happily as he slurped and sucked, only mildly concerned with his own stimulation; he'd been well-trained to come when his Teacher climaxed and mostly used the added motion as a way to push the hard length deeper into his throat. He was more aware of how Incacha's fingers teased his ears and neck; feeding the flame in his mind, he let the affectionate tickling rouse him to more aggressive motion until he was rocking vigorously against the body that thrust into his mouth. 

Now he wanted his hands back so he could brace himself against his Teacher's hip and control the pumping, spit-glazed shaft in his mouth, but the moment he moved his hands Incacha caught them and held them fast. Enqueri struggled against the welcome restraint just enough to assure himself that his Teacher would not release him. It was good, it was incredibly arousing; he moaned with the effort it took to keep himself from coming and backed off from contact with Incacha's leg. If he came before Incacha was finished with him his Teacher would be displeased, and it might be days before he let Enqueri do this again. But Incacha refused to let him go, driving into his mouth harder with every stroke, and Enqueri's struggles soon took on a more realistic tenor as he fought to breathe, to control his desperate arousal and spiking tactile sense. Suddenly Incacha arched sharply from his seat and with a drawn-out groan released into his student's waiting mouth. One taste of his Teacher's rich semen splashing onto his tongue had Enqueri humping and grinding, splattering his own orgasm all over Incacha's leg. 

After sparing only a few moments to catch his breath, Enqueri slid down to clean his semen from his Teacher's leg with his tongue, then slid down further to curl up at his feet. But he looked up when a smiling Incacha tapped him on the nose with his big toe, and got up when Incacha motioned for him to rise. This was far too sunny a spot to sleep in, so he followed his Teacher to a shady spot under a spreading tree where they could doze through the heat of the afternoon. 

Enqueri dreamed he was running on four legs through the forest in the company of a wolf with strange blue eyes. The wolf was young and wiry, small for his kind, but the eyes were ages old. He romped in circles around Enqueri, teasing him and daring him to chase, running out his tongue in a wolf-smile that hinted of some grand cosmic joke that Enqueri couldn't begin to understand. He could only follow. 

The scent of the wolf seized Enqueri like nothing he'd ever experienced. Like everything he'd ever wanted. Though he'd never scented anything like it before, he recognized it immediately. This was the one his Teacher had told him about, the one born to run at his side, to be his mate and his friend and his Guide. He bounded off after it, taking up the challenge, and they ran together through the forest of his dreams. 

The wolf's energy was exasperating. Why wouldn't it stop, just for a moment, so they could take each other's scent and learn each other's bodies? Enqueri was sure the wolf recognized him just as he'd known it, and he was starting to get angry at his companion's teasing games. With a grumpy snarl, he sprang at the wolf and landed on its back the same way he'd taken down many a deer, trapping it between his heavy paws and closing his jaws around its neck. The blue-eyed wolf rolled beneath him, whining, falling on its side to reveal its throat and belly in a show of submission and trying to lick his face. His eyes were still friendly, though wary. But Enqueri's aggression wasn't meant as a threat, merely a necessary show of dominance before mating. The wolf's games were a waste of time; if they were meant to be together then they should be together without all this dancing around. Arousal and joyous anticipation pushed his penis from its furry sheath. He pinned the wolf down and prepared to mount. 

The wolf was having none of it. It twisted under him and squirmed from his grasp, rolling to its feet, snapping lightly at his face and wheeling to face him. Not angry, but no longer submissive either. It was still young, barely old enough to mate, reluctant to lie down for a male it didn't know and not one of its own kind at that. It was willing to run with Enqueri and learn to know him better, but for now wanted only to play. They faced each other for a long moment, muscles tense, tails flicking, sniffing out each other's intentions. Then Enqueri snorted and flopped over on his side, yawning ostentatiously before casually starting to groom himself. He was willing to wait -- as long as his companion understood that he was waiting and that their entwined fate was a foregone conclusion. Slowly the wolf crept up to him, back arched and head down. Then suddenly, it darted in to run its tongue in a long slurping lick up Enqueri's face before leaping back with a yip that could only be taken as a laugh. It whirled away to scamper off into the shadowy forest of dreams. 

Enqueri awoke glossy with sweat. He was aroused again, burdened with a heavy, angry erection that he knew no amount of his Teacher's petting would be able to relieve. Something in him was waking up, and it could never be satisfied by the mere meek acceptance of a caress. 

His Teacher had rolled away from him in his sleep. Enqueri sniffed his body stealthily, exploring where his scent was strongest at the armpits and groin. He was larger and stronger than his Teacher and it would be possible to pin him down and take him before he could fight back... but he would be very angry. For the moment, recent training overcame driving instinct, and Enqueri backed away from Incacha's sleeping form. But driving instinct must still be served, so Enqueri dropped to four legs and stalked off through the trees in search of something he couldn't name. 

Slowly over the past days, Incacha had led his student closer to the village of men so he could begin to accustom himself to their proximity. Now the wind brought Enqueri a catalog of scent and sound that was filled with the clumsiness of everyday human presence. Their middens stank and so did their bodies; they moved through the jungle like boulders crashing heedlessly downhill. Only their hands and wits kept them from being as helpless as guinea pigs. Enqueri praised his jaguar ancestor for being foresighted enough to lie to the ancients. Easy quarry indeed. Too bad he'd promised his Teacher not to eat them. 

However, in the current circumstances, there were other uses he might have for them. 

Enqueri sorted through the muddle of scents until he found one with a fresh, appealing savor. He crept carefully through the brush until he was within range, then scrambled up into a tree where the shadowy foliage would obscure his dark body and he could watch undisturbed. 

It was a small female who'd wandered off from the herd to pick greens and grubs -- the greedy little thing popped the juicy larvae into her mouth, evidently not wanting to share her catch. She was old enough to mate by maybe a couple of years, with smooth, sloping hips and high breasts capped by brown nipples as large as nuts. Enqueri could tell from her body that she'd yet to bear young, but the coppery tang she gave off said she was fertile and ripe. He dropped from the tree on top of her. 

The girl screamed and struggled as he pinned her down, kicking and flailing at the huge black beast that assailed her. Enqueri clamped down on her throat, careful not to break skin, and batted her scratching hands away with amused satisfaction. It was good that she did this; she was vigorous and naturally she was testing him -- she would only want to mate with a male virile enough to ensure healthy young and strong enough to protect her. But as she continued to pummel at him he decided that he needed hands to subdue her properly, and allowed himself to take human form. The girl's shrieks increased hysterically and her body gave off a sudden flush of terror as the panther on top of her flickered into the shape of a man. She screeched herself hoarse and fought as hard as she could, resisting the magic as much as the physical assault. 

"Not eating you," Enqueri grunted roughly, his hands snapping out to grab her wrists and slam them down onto the forest floor, but she didn't understand. He shifted himself into position, ready to enter. Her body arching and bucking beneath him simply aroused him further; he could imagine what those squirming hips would feel like when he managed to sheath himself within her. Once she accepted him, she would make a fine mate. 

Incacha had awoken at the first scream, and finding his student missing, knew something must be horribly wrong. He raced off through the underbrush in the direction of the shouting, and came across the girl struggling under Enqueri's growling human form. He grabbed the first weapon available to him -- a stout tree limb -- and struck his student with all his strength. Enqueri screeched and rolled off the girl, throwing up his hands to defend himself as his Teacher beat him again and again. 

The girl rolled up into a ball, shrieking and sobbing inconsolably, as Enqueri skittered away to place his back to a tree, hissing and spitting under Incacha's furious attack. He didn't try to fight back and couldn't understand why his Teacher was angry -- he hadn't been trying to eat the girl, hadn't even hurt her. He hadn't tried to take his Teacher. The girl was unharmed and wasn't anyone else's mate. He didn't understand! 

Villagers came running, drawn by the uproar, to discover the distraught girl weeping on the ground, and their shaman brandishing a cudgel over the bellowing naked body of a madman. Incacha instantly found himself having to defend his student from summary execution. The girl's mother had gathered her into her arms and was wailing as if for the dead; her father and her betrothed screamed for immediate vengeance. The chief and elders were trying to settle everyone down and demanding that Incacha justify his actions. The shaman had been away from his tribe for almost two months, returning to the village only briefly and giving only the sketchiest of reasons for his prolonged absence. It was assumed that the tribe's shaman had some purpose in being away so long, but now he'd better start explaining himself -- and it had better be good. 

But before anything else, the beast had to be restrained. Incacha tore down a thick vine and bound Enqueri's hands, tossing the loose end of the improvised rope over a high tree branch and tying it out of Enqueri's reach, so that he was standing beneath the tree on his tiptoes with his arms pulled high over his head. 

Then, choosing his words carefully, Incacha tried to tell his tribe exactly what it was he'd found in the forest and exactly how his discovery could help the Chopec people. This was something he'd only heard about before in the tales of the oldest shamen -- a warrior with eyes like an eagle, ears like a bat and a nose like a fox. A Sentinel destined to protect the people, no matter how it might seem at the moment. This Sentinel in particular had come from far away to guard them from the upheaval that had come to terrorize the jungle in recent years -- the dangerous men who brought guns and explosions and tried to drag the Chopec into devastating wars that didn't concern them, conflicts between unknown tribes from far beyond the mountains. This warrior had come from halfway around the world to protect them, but was at the mercy of his own chaotic powers. Incacha had tried to help him. Tried to bind him to the Chopec and teach him the ways of the forest, so that when Incacha introduced him to the tribe, he would love them like family and be driven to protect them, not just exploit them as so many other foreigners sought to do. 

Incacha admitted that he'd made a dreadful mistake in underestimating the animal spirit that lived within his student. But the girl hadn't been physically harmed, just horribly frightened, and her honor was still intact. Restitution could be made. The beast could be controlled. He would bring the Sentinel to the village where he could learn again how to live as a man, where he could learn to protect the Chopec, and where he could hope to begin to make it up to little Riri's family by hunting for them for many months to come. 

Incacha vowed to take full responsibility for Enqueri's future behavior and to guarantee that he would remain harmless. The shaman had never heard of terms like "post-hypnotic suggestion" or "psychological conditioning," but he had much knowledge of spells and rituals, and he promised his people he would do everything in his power to make sure such a terrible thing never happened again. 

That night Incacha led the docile, still-bound Sentinel into his shelter on the outskirts of the village, hung him on tiptoe from the support beams and beat him severely with thorny branches, raising scores of welts from his shoulderblades to the backs of his knees that would make it impossible for him to hunt for days. Then, using a vial of nut oil to grease his penis, he drove himself violently into his student's rear, beginning the harsh process of re-education. There would be no more women for Enqueri. He would take no men either. He would have to learn that his body was entirely under his Teacher's control and that the only way he would ever find release was at his Teacher's command. That was the only way Incacha could think of to restrain the beast. 

* * *

The shaman was silent, lips pressed together, eyes shut tightly. He opened his eyes; reflected in the flickering firelight, they shone with unshed tears. 

* * *

In the days that followed, Enqueri learned once more what it meant to live as a man. It meant wearing clothes; Incacha taught him how to tie a loincloth around his waist and painted his eyes with a black mask and red stripes along his cheekbones. It meant walking on two legs, eating his meat cooked, working at shelter repairs and odd jobs for Riri's family until he was healed enough to hunt. She was still frightened of him, that was only natural; it helped that tribal customs minimized contact between them. Her betrothed, though, Mitaqu, was in Enqueri's face almost every moment of every day -- not saying anything, not doing anything, just _there_ , just daring him to... well, to do _anything_ that would give Mitaqu the least bit of excuse to gut him like a pig. 

Enqueri kept his head down. He worked, he replied politely when spoken to and kept quiet otherwise, he ate his meat cooked and followed Incacha's orders. He had come to realize the enormity of what he'd tried to do, though with a kind of roundabout logic that might not have been exactly the way the villagers thought about the incident. As Enqueri saw it, Riri belonged to someone else -- he just hadn't known about it at the time. He had no business taking someone else's mate, and the tribe wouldn't have allowed him to challenge Mitaqu for her. Men had rules about such things. Not that he wanted to anyway. He also belonged to someone else. 

When Incacha brought his student into his hammock at night, he assured him that he wasn't angry, he was more upset at himself for not teaching him to behave properly. He entered Enqueri gently, with tender care, and taught him to enjoy being taken. He showed him how the flame in his mind could be fed until Enqueri was engulfed in the sensation of his Teacher's body -- the smallest drop of sweat falling from Incacha's brow exploded onto Enqueri's skin in a burst of sizzling warmth and heady scent, while the actual penetration became an ever-expanding wave of incomparable, indescribable sensuality. He would float, lost and entranced in his Teacher's gift of pure pleasure, head thrown back and throat open in a wanton, ceaseless animal moan, hearing only his Teacher's low chant of words he would never remember in the light of day, but which were trapping and binding his mind in sweet fetters stronger than steel. 

In the light of day, Enqueri lived as a man. But at night, under the spell of Incacha's voice and hands and driving cock, the beast would beg for his Teacher's favor. A single word made him as hard as stone; another, and he would shudder into orgasm without so much as a touch. He learned to rub fragrant oil over Incacha's erection, to prepare and open his own entrance, then present his rear to be filled. There was not a thing on earth he wanted more. 

But in the light of day he lived as a man. As the days passed and he proved himself harmless, the villagers' acceptance of him grew. He was allowed to join hunting parties, and the hunters quickly realized the Sentinel's value -- no bird or animal could escape his detection, and his aim with dart or arrow was without peer. Incacha would accompany them, keeping the Sentinel focused and making sure that he remained on two legs. Together, they kept the village well fed, and brought back the beautiful blue and red feathers and brilliant beetles that Riri loved so much. Slowly, he was allowed to take part in the daily life of the village, to join the hunters in the men's house if he wished, to participate in celebrations. Slowly, Enqueri gained the tribe's trust, then its respect. 

Then there was a day when Incacha brought out a large, bulky bundle and placed it at his student's feet. He watched as his Sentinel unwrapped it to find a set of camouflage fatigues, a pair of dogtags, an ALICE rig and a pair of firearms. 

Ellison picked up the rifle. Someone had kept it well-greased and protected from the humidity of the jungle. Releasing the magazine with a quick snap, he nimbly popped the receiver pin and pulled the charging handle, opened the port and disassembled the receiver to inspect the back end of the barrel so he could determine whether any rust or debris had found its way inside -- 

and dropped the whole thing from hands that were suddenly shaking uncontrollably, his mind reeling with vertigo. Finally looking up into Incacha's concerned, attentive face, he brought his heaving lungs under control and croaked, "How long?" 

"Four months," the shaman answered quietly. 

"Four months," Ellison repeated in an awestruck whisper. He shook his head as if he could clear cobwebs from it, then said more steadily, reminding himself, "I have orders. A mission." 

"Yes," said Incacha. "Your mission is a good one, and it will protect our tribe. We will help you." 

"Protect the tribe," Ellison muttered, and nodded decisively. "You won't be sorry," he said roughly. 

"I know," Incacha assured him. "You're a good man, Enqueri, and we all care for you very much. _I_ care for you very much." 

Ellison shook his head again and again. "I -- you... after everything I've... _Thank_ you, Incacha," he insisted, as if Incacha were protesting otherwise. "Thank you. I can't tell you how much --" he shook his head again. "I -- I'm sorry. So sorry. You won't be sorry," he repeated. 

Incacha smiled gently. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Enqueri. Take your clothes." 

"No. I can't. I won't. You've done so much. It would be like -- Please." He looked at the shaman, his eyes asking something he couldn't bring himself to say. 

"Of course, Enqueri," said Incacha reassuringly. "You're one of us now. I think I will talk to the chief. It's time you were made a member of the tribe." He picked up the set of dogtags. "But why don't you wear your charms?" He put them around Ellison's neck. "You're a son of two worlds now. It would be right." 

Ellison clutched the dulled metal tags around his neck, but said nothing. 

"We'll talk to the chief," Incacha said again. "You'll explain your mission, what needs to be done. The men will help you." 

Ellison looked down at the tags and quietly asked, "Will you help me?" 

"I will always help you, my wildcat," smiled Incacha. 

* * *

"You loved him very much, didn't you," the shaman said huskily, forgetting to subvocalize, fighting back tears. 

"yes... no --Blair!" moaned the entranced Sentinel. 

The shaman shook his head. "Shhh, Enqueri, it's all right. You can love more than one person in your life. It's good to love." 

"Blair!" 

"Blair will be here soon," whispered the shaman. "I promise." He wiped his eyes and caught his breath. "You have to tell me how it was when you came back to the States." Breathing deeply to regain his composure, he began again the low hypnotic chant, as much for his own benefit as for his Sentinel's. "No pain, no fear... it's safe here, Enqueri, and you can remember..." 

"they came for me..." Jim whispered wonderingly. "Incacha said they would, but I never thought they would..." 

* * *

Many months passed, and the jungle was home. Enqueri led the Chopec hunters in posting sentries and patrols through the Pass, and for well over a year not a soul who intruded on their land came out alive. He was adopted into the tribe and attended the wedding of Riri and Mitaqu, who in their happiness were able to forgive him for something he'd done when not in his right mind, after all. He and Incacha kept watch over the borders of the Chopec territory, ranging far through the forest on patrol and on the hunt. Their time together let them spend hours talking about the different worlds they came from, what they wanted from the future, and every silly small thing in between. At long last they could become true friends, and at night lie together like lovers and equals. 

There were no women for Enqueri; nor did he take Incacha or any other man. The thought never even entered his mind. He never ran on four legs again. 

Riri gave birth to a son, a healthy boy who was born tangled up in his cord, so they called him Kipu after the knotted cords their ancestors had once used to keep stories. And mere weeks after that, Incacha once again brought out the bundle containing Captain Ellison's uniform and told him it was time to put it on. The soldiers from the north were coming, and it was time for Enqueri to go home. 

Ellison, dressed in the now unfamiliar, uncomfortable clothing, hugged his Teacher tightly and whispered in his ear, "Love you. Don't forget me." 

Incacha held him and smiled his eternal noble smile. "You are my brother and my son," he said. "I will never forget you. We will meet again, Enqueri -- I too will meet my destiny in your city of falling waters." 

He ran his hand over his student's forehead, closing his eyes. "But for a time, you must forget, my kitten," he whispered. "Just for a time. The world of the north does not understand our ways, and that is where you must live. Your powers must go to sleep, just for a time. But when they wake again, you will meet your Laughing Wolf." 

So Captain Ellison went on patrol, where he and his hunters found and surrounded a platoon of Rangers exhuming the bodies that Ellison had buried so long before, with nothing but his own hands and an entrenching tool. And finding them, Ellison greeted them with the first English words he'd spoken in almost two years: "Captain James Ellison. Third Airborne Rangers. OD8731. Are you my relief?" 

* * *

The shaman thought for a moment. "When you returned to the States," he said slowly, "there were women, right?" 

"...yes..." 

"What was that like?" 

"...like...?" Obviously not understanding the question. 

"Were you able to have sex with women?" asked the shaman gently. "Was there pleasure?" 

A flash of discomfort skittered across Jim's face. "it was... what to do... had to do... men do..." 

"It was expected," prompted the shaman. 

"yes..." 

"Did you enjoy it?" 

"was... motions... just motions..." He shifted restlessly. 

"And Carolyn?" 

"... just motions..." Jim whispered again. "...sorry, Carolyn, sorry..." 

"Shhh, Enqueri, it's all right... Was this, with the women, any different from how it had been before you lived in the jungle?" 

"... can't ... don't remember... senses, no feeling... gone -- _freak_!" he moaned, tossing. 

"It's okay, shhhh, okay, no pain here, safe here, you're a good man, Enqueri, a fine man..." the shaman chanted softly, reassuringly, until Jim settled again. Then he thought for another moment before continuing. "What about men? When you came back to Cascade, were there men?" 

"Blair..." groaned Jim. 

"Blair will be here soon," smiled the shaman. "Before Blair, were there men?" 

"...vice..." 

The shaman nodded. "When you became a police officer, you worked Vice. You were with men?" 

A flicker of fear and shame. "men... don't... rules..." 

"Don't worry, Enqueri, don't be afraid, no fear here, no rules here, you can tell me..." 

"... so lonely... so dark... men -- in the dark... yes..." 

Softly, "Was there pleasure?" 

"oh, yes..." the Sentinel moaned. 

"Did you take the men?" 

"No!" 

"Shhh, all right, it's all right..." crooned the shaman, almost absently. He was thinking hard. In a very real way, the truly difficult part was just starting now. Listening to Jim recount his experiences had been bad. Making Jim go through them again with the help of the drugged tea and smoke -- and going there with him -- had been sheer hell. But all that had just been about finding out how his past had shaped him. Figuring out how to free him, on the other hand -- _that_ was going to be the hard part. 

Well, one thing he knew had to happen. The shaman reached for the vial of oil hidden in the shadows of the hut, coated his fingers with it, and started working the slickness into his ass. Not exactly romantic, he thought wryly, but this wasn't about romance. Plenty of time for romance later. This is what they'd have to go through to in order to get to romance. No rest for the weird. 

Wiping his hand off on his thigh, he took a deep breath and softly said, "Tell me about Blair." 

"Blair..." 

"Blair," smiled the shaman. "Tell me about meeting Blair, Enqueri." 

"Blair..." Jim moaned. "everything... everything -- like everything I ever wanted, everything I dreamed..." 

"This was when you first met him? In the hospital?" 

Jim wrinkled his nose. "hospital stank..." he whispered. "couldn't smell Blair... beautiful Blair..." 

"But you went to his office, and then...?" 

"ohhhhh..." Jim groaned. "Smelled so good... everything I've ever wanted... eyes like deep water..." 

"You wanted him then?" the shaman asked. 

" _knew_ him then," Jim hissed, body tensing. "knew him, wanted him, there, that moment! so scared -- angry -- didn't he _know_?" 

"He knew," said the shaman quietly. "He was scared of you, scared that you didn't know." He moved around to Jim's side of the fire, and lay beside him, careful not to touch. 

"Blair..." Jim moaned. 

"Blair loves -- _I_ love you very, very much," the shaman whispered into his Sentinel's ear. "More than anything, more than life. Always have, always will. Promise." 

"Blair," Jim whispered, and his eyes started leaking tears. 

"I'm here, Jim," Blair whispered back, and touched his arm. Jim leapt like he'd been shocked. Blair kept stroking his arm, whispering, "Shhh, shhh, I'm here..." until he settled back down and relaxed. "Jim," he continued in a quiet, compelling voice, "you have to listen to me, just for a few more moments. Can you hear me?" 

"Oh, yes..." he moaned. 

"Then listen to my voice, and know -- _know_ \-- that what I'm telling you is true. There are no more rules, Jim. No more rules, no more blocks, no more prohibitions." His hand moved to stroke Jim's chest. "They're gone," he crooned, "like they never existed. Gone, all gone. You don't have to worry, you can never hurt me." 

"Already hurt you," Jim protested softly, letting the tears fall. "You wanted... anything for you, anything... couldn't stop -- the beast..." 

"The beast is just you," Blair replied huskily. "Part of you. I love you. Love the beast. Beautiful, black, strong, so alive, so beautiful..." He realized he was crying too, and didn't care. "Don't you love me, Jim? Doesn't the beast love me? The beautiful cat, doesn't he love me?" 

"Oh god, yes!" 

"The beautiful cat would never hurt me, would he?" 

"Never!" Jim growled. "Love you, protect you forever..." 

"That's right, Jim," Blair said soothingly. "Now listen to me carefully. A rule is nothing, just a line in the sand, and once the line is crossed it can be swept away like it never existed." He paused, then continued, "I want you to picture that line in the sand, Jim. Picture it in your mind like it's right there in front of you. Can you see it?" 

"...yes..." 

"Good. I'm going to count to three, and when I get to three you're going to sweep away that line in the sand and it will be gone -- poof! Gone. Never existed, never come back. Do you understand? Can you do that?" 

"...yes..." 

"Okay, then." He paused. "One. Two." Deep breath. "Three. Gone. Is it gone?" 

"Yes," said Jim clearly, decisively. 

Blair sighed, "Thank all the gods. Now come make love to me. On two legs, on four legs, I want you so much." He rolled over, spooning up against Jim and rubbing his ass against Jim's hip, whispering back over his shoulder, "Please come take me, my love." 

With a strangled cry Jim was upon him, rolling him onto his stomach, crushing him into the ground. Blair closed his eyes and let rich, cloudy-soft fur rub over his back. He concentrated on the feeling and tried to strengthen it. This was no time to be squeamish. This was not about romance, or his own culturally determined knee-jerk responses. This was about ancient magic, and deeply rooted primal forces. In many, many cultures for thousands of years, this would be considered a perfectly appropriate coupling of shaman and spirit. No, more than appropriate -- divine, inspired, something fervently to be desired. Embracing the beast. He felt the heavy weight of a paw pinning him down and threw back his head, offering his throat to the gleaming fangs. As the wet points closed on his neck he shuddered and pushed his ass up against the hot sinewy pelt that lay over him. /Yes, yes, want it, want this, this, want it all, yes,/ he chanted in his throat, because the panther's jaws were tight around him and he couldn't have spoken if he'd wanted to. 

And then the beast mounted him with a brutal shove and he found he could scream after all -- a choking, garbled wail that became desperate with burning pain as the cat's barbed shaft drew out and slammed back in to the root. He forced himself to form the scream into words -- "Yes! God, please, yes!" -- determined that no reaction of his would be anything less than totally accepting of the beast, that the body above him, the body of his beloved Sentinel in whatever form he chose to take, would find him willing and eager and open. The cat snarled into his neck as it drove into him deeply with no concern for pleasure or love, just ten years of fettered desire and millennia of primeval instinct having its way with the flesh. This was not about romance, Blair reminded himself through gritted teeth and squeezed-shut eyes; it was what they had to go through to get to romance -- but then the pumping shaft rammed against his prostate and he didn't give a good goddamn anymore about love or romance or anything on earth but the blessed, rock-hard length of it in him, shoved in him, fucking and fucking in animal lust, and he was an animal too -- less than an animal, a ravenous hole, screaming and howling, no more words, no more thought, just _more_ and _hard_ and _fuckmefuckmefuckme_ , wanting nothing more in life than to be seized and plundered and possessed completely by the ferocious beast that had taken him as its mate -- and coming helplessly, blissfully, as the cat above him threw back its head and screeched its own completion into the gray dawn. 

He opened his eyes and peeked back over his shoulder to see Jim staring down at him in worship and wonder. 

"Sorcerer," Jim whispered. 

"Warrior," Blair smiled. 

"My Guide, beautiful Guide..." 

"My Sentinel." Blair rolled on his back beneath him and took him gently into his arms. "My beautiful, beautiful wildcat." 

Jim shuddered, and Blair hugged him tighter. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say --" 

"No!" Jim murmured huskily into the sweaty hair sticking to Blair's neck. "Want you to... been so long..." He sighed and settled his weight on top of him, melting into him and letting the hot tears fall. 

Blair rocked him and stroked his head and back, whispering, "Dearest kitten, beautiful fierce wildcat, my love..." until Jim was quiet again. Then drew Jim's head back and stroked his face for long moments before taking his mouth in a tender kiss. "Come on," he smiled. "It's time to watch the sun rise." 

As they ducked out of the hut into the growing light of dawn, Blair turned to wave at Qisa, who acknowledged them with a wave of his own before getting up and leaving. 

Jim yawned, stretched out his back and arms, and asked his shaman wonderingly, "How the hell did you know how to do all that?" 

"Magic," Blair shrugged, pulling his hair back from his sweaty neck and doing a little stretching of his own. 

Jim snorted. "Right. Like that little pyrotechnic trick you pulled. Where the hell did that come from?" 

Blair laughed. "Oh, come on, Mr. Covert Ops. A few ground-up blue-tip match heads, a little sawdust, some boy-scout ingenuity. Don't tell me you were taken in by _that_ , Jimbo!" 

"Don't call me that," Jim growled, mock-threatening. 

Blair skipped backwards and chanted, "Jimbo, Jimbo, Jimbo!" 

"I'll kick your ass!" Jim warned. 

"You'll _fuck_ my ass!" Blair taunted, thrusting his pelvis. 

"You better believe it," said Jim, trying to grab him, but Blair danced out of range, stuck out his tongue and sang out, "Gotta catch me first!" He wheeled around, laughing, and sprinted off in the direction of the river. 

A brilliant, unreserved smile lit up Jim's face and he took up the challenge, chasing after his mate, his friend, his Guide, following his Laughing Wolf as they ran together through the sun-dappled forest of his dreams. 

\----------------to be concluded-----------------------


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On The Road with Jim and Blair.  
> Archived on 01/09/00

## The Rules of Attraction Part 8

by [Spiderine](mailto:spiderine@att.net)  


Author's webpage: <http://www.spiderine.com>

* * *

The Rules of Attraction 

Part 8 

Disclaimer: Characters from "The Sentinel" series belong to Pet Fly. My imagination belongs to me. "On The Road" belongs to Jack Kerouac. "The Kasidah of Haji Abdul El-Ynezdi" belongs to Captain Sir Richard Francis Burton. "Pale Blue Eyes" belongs to Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground. I didn't write "Waiting for Godot," either. No copyright infringement is intended; passion is its own reward. 

NOTES: 1) This is part 8 of this work, and it is truly the Episode That Would Not Die. At the end of part 7 I made some noise about how part 8 would be the conclusion, but that ejaculation was premature. <eg> It turns out that I'm lousy at gauging how much I can say in how many pages, so there will be one more installment. Don't worry, this story does have an ending, and that ending will take place in Cascade. I really do know where I'm going with this, I promise! 

Having said that, we now return to our regularly scheduled Notes: 

2) Yes, there actually is an "El Bar Golf" in Jorge Chavez International Airport in Lima. Yes, I have way too much time on my hands; thanks for asking. 3) This story takes place at some undetermined time in the third season, after "Warriors" but before "Sentinel Too". 4) Write me! 5) Nikolaia is a harsh taskmistress. < _whimper_ > It's still all her fault. < _grovel_ >

* * *

How do you stuff a world into a backpack? 

Some things fit easily. A small monkey-hide ball. A pipe carved out of bone. A feathered claw necklace. Other things you bring with you by leaving them behind, like a faded blue sweater lying crumpled in a young boy's hammock. But how do you fit a sunrise over a river? A grieving mother's tears? The cackle of an old trickster shaman? A thousand memories of love and pain, death staring from the eyes of a python, the ecstasy of a first sloppy kiss with tongue and everything, the smoky vision of a man running on four legs through a forest of dreams... How do you pack a tiny world, sheltered by a vast green canopy that only seems endless, timeless? 

Blair Sandburg jammed the last notebook into his pack and wrestled the zipper closed. 

Jim Ellison heard the zipper shut and asked, "Are you finally ready now?" 

Blair turned. His Sentinel was lying in their hammock, wearing only a pair of olive green cargo pants and a Jags cap pulled down over his closed eyes. The hair under the cap was a little shaggy, overdue for a trim by a couple of weeks. The body was taut, and brown from their time in the sun. Even at rest, it seemed ready to spring into splendid motion. Like an Italian race car gunning its motor at the starting line. Like a great black cat, poised between the stalk and the pounce. 

A heady rush flowed up Blair's spine and he realized that he was leaving nothing behind. Never would again. All the heat and ecstasy, the green shade and glowing sunrise, even the danger and the pain, and the love... oh, yeah, definitely the love... everything that mattered... it all traveled with him now. Packed neatly into the body and soul of the man lying in the hammock. 

Blair smiled. "Yeah. I'm ready now." 

Jim swung out of the hammock to his feet in one smooth motion and pushed the cap out of his eyes. "You know," he said with a small lopsided grin, "we could still cut back over the ridge and head through the brush..." 

"Oh, no," smirked Blair. "You don't get off that easy. They're waiting for us in the village." He came over and put his hand on Jim's shoulder, and the smirk was gone. "Come on, man. Who knows when you're going to see them again? It could be another ten years! We are not leaving without saying goodbye." He gave Jim a quick peck of a kiss, and added, "And that's final." 

Jim sighed and grumped, "Fine." 

Blair hefted his backpack and swung it over his shoulder with a barely audible "oof." 

Jim glanced at him. "Listen, Chief, I packed pretty light. I could take some of that crap if you want." 

"Yeah, right, and listen to you bitching all the way to Iquitos?" Blair laughed. "No way! I trekked it in, I'll trek it out. I'm a big boy now." 

Jim made a face and unzipped his pack. "Give me the books," he said. 

"Don't worry about it, okay?" 

"I'm not worrying about it," insisted Jim. "Just hand over the damn books." 

"Forget it!" Blair turned away and prepared to leave the shelter. 

Jim grabbed his arm. "Goddammit, Sandburg! I am not going to bitch, and you have nothing to prove. My pack is lighter than yours. There's no reason not to even out the load. Now would you _please_ give me the damn books!" he demanded. "I _want_ to carry your fucking books!" 

A slow grin spread over Blair's face. "Aw, Jim, that's sweet," he said. "You want to walk me home from school too?" 

Jim huffed for a couple of seconds. Then he glowered, "You got a problem with that?" 

"No problem at all." Blair dropped his pack and opened his arms. "Well, hell," he said. "I guess this means we're going steady." 

Jim stepped forward into his Guide's embrace. "You are such a shit," he bitched into the top of Blair's head. 

"Yeah, I know," Blair smiled up at him. "We have that in common, at least." 

The two men kissed deeply, and when the kiss broke, Jim looked at Blair and stroked his face. And said, "Now give me the fucking books." 

Once the luggage issue was sorted out, Ellison and Sandburg made their way down the trail to the village. An outsider wouldn't have noticed anything special going on. Everyone appeared to be going about their usual tasks. But to someone who knew the Chopec, it was evident that people were being just a bit too offhand in finding excuses to hang around the clearing. To stay available. Nobody wanted to make too big a deal about their leaving, in case it might seem that they were expected never to return, or in case some malicious spirit might notice the fuss and plague the two men with ill luck on their travels. It was up to Jim and Blair to say farewell in their own way, in their own time. 

The chief and a couple of older men were sitting in a circle outside his shelter, knotting a fishing net out of lengths of handspun fiber rope that they stretched with their toes as they passed and tied the lines. Jim and Blair stopped by and squatted near the circle casually, waiting for an opportunity to enter the conversation. 

The chief looked at Blair and mentioned, "Asikatuq, I remember you asked me once if I knew anyone who speaks Spanish. I have a cousin who married into another village, where some young men know that tongue." 

Blair knew better than to ask if those men could be trusted; the chief wouldn't have mentioned them if it were otherwise. He simply nodded and handed the chief a piece of paper torn from his notebook. Written on it in clear block letters was Jim's and his names, the address and telephone number of the loft in Cascade, and the words CARGAS INVIERTAS. "This paper says where Enqueri and I live in the north," he explained. "If you need us, you shouldn't risk any more of our men in a journey to the north. It's not safe for the Chopec." The chief and other elders nodded in agreement; the death of even one tribesman was a great tragedy, and several young men had already been lost along with Incacha. 

Blair continued, "The people of the north have a ... a tool that speaks far away. If you need us, give this paper to someone who speaks Spanish, and they can go to a town where they have this tool, and use this paper to speak to us. Someone will help them do it." 

The chief nodded. "I will keep the paper dry." 

"We will come," Jim said. 

"Allillann~ari," the chief nodded [That's all, then], and he and the elders returned to their work. Jim and Blair waited a moment, then got up and wandered off. 

As they crossed the clearing, Qisa jogged up and stopped them, grinning in a way that showed he wasn't about to stand on ceremony and wait for them. One after the other, he grabbed them in big hugs and called them, "Wawqe'y" [my brother]. "It will be at least six months," he said to both men, "before all the talking is done and the gifts are exchanged. I wanted to run off with her now and get it over with," he confessed, rolling his eyes, "but Riri wants the big ceremony." 

Jim nodded sagely and shrugged. "Believe me, I know exactly what you mean. It's a woman thing. Don't get in her way." 

"Me? Are you crazy?" the hunter laughed. "I know what's good for me! But," he continued seriously, "I hope you will come back when Riri and I are married." 

"We'll try, wawqe'y," Jim tried to explain, "but it's a long journey to make very often." 

"But we'll try our best," added Blair. "You and Riri are lucky to have each other. You'll be good together." 

"I know," Qisa smiled. 

Jim cleared his throat and said, "Qisa... make sure Riri knows..." He stopped and shrugged. "Just make sure she knows." 

Qisa nodded in understanding and slapped Jim in the shoulder. He unslung from around his back a long, intricately decorated blowgun and quiver of darts and handed them to Blair. "Watch out for snakes, little brother," he laughed, lightly slapping him on the face. "Ratukama!" [See you later!] Then sprinted off before they could reply. 

Ellison looked at the weapon dubiously and shook his head. "They are never going to let that thing on the plane." 

"Sure they will," Blair assured him. "We'll wrap it up and check it with the luggage. I'm an _anthropologist_ from a _university_ , and this is an _important_ _cultural_ _artifact_." He grinned and winked. "I've done this a thousand times. When I'm finished with them they'll want to get rid of me so bad they'll let me through with a bag of grenades." 

"That I can believe," replied Jim with just a millimeter's worth of smile. 

Blair brightened. "Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I came back from Papua New Guinea and I was carrying this --" 

Jim threw up his hands defensively. "No! And I don't want to know!" 

Before they could explore this fascinating topic further, Kipu ran up to them and exclaimed, "Mamay says not to bother you! I'm not bothering you, am I?" 

"Course not!" Blair replied indignantly, squatting down to the boy's eye level. "We were just coming over, right, Enqueri?" 

"Absolutely," Jim assured him. He crossed his arms and mock-scowled down at the boy. "I wanted to make sure you keep your promise. No more cliff diving, right?" 

"I promised!" Kipu protested. 

"And you'll listen to Qisa and not make trouble for your mamay," Jim continued grimly. 

"Qisa said it's time for me to learn to shoot," said the boy proudly. "He says I'm too old to play with the girls." He paused and gave Blair a confused look. "But you do. I told him that." 

Jim snorted a laugh, and Blair gave Kipu a sheepish little shrug. "Well, it's kinda different for me," the shaman tried to explain. "It's complicated." 

"Qisa said he likes you a lot, but you can't shoot worth monkey shit. Is that true? Is it because you play with the girls?" Kipu asked curiously. 

That set Jim laughing even worse. Blair glared at him, then told Kipu, "No, it's not because I play with girls. I'm a crappy shot because I didn't learn how when I was a boy. If you pay attention to Qisa, he'll teach you and you'll be a great shot when you grow up no matter what. Okay?" 

"Okay," Kipu answered doubtfully. "But you know a lot better stories and games than Qisa does..." He looked up tentatively. "Mamay says it's rude to ask when you're coming back. But you are coming back, right?" 

Blair sighed. "Enqueri and I live a long way away, farther than the mountains. We're going to try to come back, but it may be a long time." 

"Well then, I'll just come to see you," the boy said, setting his face determinedly. "Then you can show me your forest." 

"Kipu," said Jim, "Qisa is going to be like your tatay now. It's important that you do as he says. Much more important than coming to see our forest." 

"When I grow up I can do whatever I want," Kipu answered defiantly. "Play with anybody I want, even travel across the mountains. You do." 

"Asikatuq and I... we're not really like other people," Jim explained gently. 

"No! You're much more fun!" the boy replied. "I mean," he explained to Jim, "sometimes you're scary -- you _try_ to be scary, but you're still fun. And you're _lots_ of fun!" he told Blair, grabbing him in a tight hug. 

Blair hugged him back. "Just be a good boy," he said quietly. "Listen to your mamay and tatay, and don't worry about growing up, okay?" The boy nodded. "Now, we have to go talk to the grown-ups. Go and play, and don't fuss. It's bad luck." He kissed the kid on the head, gave him a little push away, and stood up. "Go on." 

Kipu backed off slowly, gave a little wave, and turned and ran off. 

Blair exhaled. "Man, I hate this part!" 

Jim shrugged. "I wanted to sneak out the back, but no..." 

"Scaredycat," smirked Blair. 

"I'm not a scaredycat, I'm scary," Jim replied smugly. 

"You _try_ to be scary," teased Blair, "but you're still a fun cat. Come on, let's hit my mom's and get this over with." 

"Now, _she's_ scary." 

"Amen to that, brother." 

Iaqu assumed this was going to be her son's last decent meal for days, if not months -- if not until she saw him again. She had no idea what passed for food among the people of the north, but her son had told her they didn't eat cassava or monkeys or grubs or anything proper. No wonder he'd looked so skinny and pale before she'd gotten her hands on him. He probably saved all the decent food he found to give to that ox of a man of his. Enqueri. His Enqueri. Not a husband, not a wife, more than just a friend. Her son's man. A man who seemed carved out of stone, but who bent like a twig if her son so much as looked at him. Whatever was going on between those two, Iaqu preferred to keep deliberately vague in her mind, as some kind of spirit thing that of course wasn't normal \-- since when were spirits ever _normal_? It was enough for Iaqu that the big warrior visibly worshipped the ground beneath her son's feet, that he made her son happy, that he was a good provider. Though how good a provider he could be had to come under question when her son was so pale and skinny, clearly malnourished, probably overworked. She'd heard of shamen who got so caught up in the spirit world that they'd forget to eat; her son was obviously one of those. The spirits were close to him, and Iaqu knew that while being close to spirits was an important and wonderful thing, it was not always a good thing. And it was always a hard thing. And while all this spirit work was going on, who was taking care of her son's stomach? She'd have to have a talk with that man of his. 

In any event, nobody was going to walk away from her shelter hungry if she could help it. She'd prepared accordingly, and began the onslaught the moment her son and that man of his sat down on the mat, with fish balls and spicy young greens and tiny birds baked in mud shells. And those were just the appetizers. 

She waited until their mouths were happily crammed with food before she addressed her son with the affectionate term she would have used if he'd been with her as a small boy. "Wawa'y, I think that tribe of yours in the north is too big. I think they make you work too hard." 

Jim and Blair exchanged a glance before Blair returned his face to his food and replied, "It's a lot of people to watch out for, Mamay, but Enqueri and I have a lot of friends to help us." 

"A lot of friends to get you into trouble, I bet," Iaqu snorted. "Warriors. A lot of running around and yelling and being big men fighting off other big men." 

"We help people, Mamay. We take care of our tribe." 

"So who takes care of you?" she asked pointedly. 

"I do," Jim answered quietly. 

Iaqu continued to address her remarks to Blair. "I think you don't eat enough and don't get enough sleep. I see you running around half the night with _somebody_ and coming to eat in the morning with your hair wet. I see you eat like a bird and give _somebody_ most of your meat. It's good for hunters to eat meat, but if there's not enough for both of you it means that _somebody_ isn't doing his job and bringing back more. You're too skinny. You should eat meat and nuts and fat, it will make you strong." 

Jim couldn't suppress a small laugh. "That's it, Chief," he said in English. "When we get home I'm putting you on a diet of Wonder Burgers and pork rinds." 

/Not with your head shoved in a bucket of algae shake you won't,/ Blair smiled silently, then said to his mother, "Enqueri takes good care of me." /In his own sick, twisted fashion,/ he added. 

"Love you too, Sandburg," Jim murmured into his food. 

"As long as _somebody_ remembers that it's not about being a big man, that taking care of you doesn't mean pulling you out of trouble that he got you into in the first place," Iaqu pointed out. 

Blair laughed. /She's got a point./ 

"Fuck you too, Sandburg," Jim smiled. 

/Later./ "Mamay, I'm a grown man," Blair said gently. "I do this because I have to. I want to. Enqueri and I take care of each other, and together we can take care of the tribe. Enqueri..." he started, looking over to Jim. Then he turned back to Iaqu. "Mamay, let him talk to you. Please?" 

Iaqu hesitated for a moment, then turned, head cocked, to look Jim full in the face. 

Jim met her gaze with his, clear as the sky. He said, "Your son is a strong warrior. I can't promise you he will never be in danger, that he will never feel cold or wet or hungry. Or pain. Or fear. But I promise you that if he does, it will be so that many, many others can sleep safe and warm. And I promise you that he will never be alone." 

Iaqu took a deep breath and turned to her son, who was watching his warrior, eyes like stars dancing. Whatever he was seeing was something a person was lucky to see once in a lifetime. Again, she cocked her head to Jim and sighed, "Bring him back to us." 

Jim nodded. "If I can, I will." 

She stood and picked up a pack basket, shoving it into Jim's grasp. "I packed food for the trip," she said. "Make sure he eats." 

Before Jim could reply, she turned and pointed a finger to her son. "Make him bring you back." 

"Mamay," Sandburg giggled, "I don't make him do anything." 

Iaqu grinned and snorted at that. Suddenly she was bustling them out of the shelter. "What are you doing hanging around here?" she harangued them. "You have a long way to walk. The sun doesn't stop for you, you know, no matter how you act. Warriors and spirits, hmph. Big men." She darted in to give her son a quick hug, then backed away just as quickly. "Don't do anything too stupid." She turned away and abruptly became very busy doing something else. 

The guys picked up their stuff, backed off and headed out across the clearing. "I hate this," said Blair. "I hate this. Man, get me out of here." 

"We're out, Chief," Jim assured him. "Before we get stuck with any more crap to carry." 

"That's not crap," Blair pointed out. "That's food! And the basket will be empty by the time we reach Iquitos." 

"Yeah, but who's going to be carrying it?" Jim grumbled. "You want those books back now?" 

"Ha! Serves you right for opening your big mouth!" grinned Blair. "Tell you what. I'll carry the food, you carry the blowgun. You're the one who knows how to use it." 

"You just want to be near the food," said Jim as they juggled, passed and rearranged the load again. 

"I'm saving you from yourself," Blair answered. 

"You say that a lot." 

"You need a lot of saving." 

In order to get out of the village, they had to pass the men's house. Sandburg's father was waiting for them. They strolled up to him, and he nodded. He pointed back up the ridge and said, "If you follow that way you will reach the road in ... it used to be five days' walk. Now, maybe three." He shrugged with a flash of bitterness. "The men with the guns and the roads come, and the jungle is smaller than it used to be." 

There was nothing to be said to that, so the two men nodded. Pato said, "Keep your feet dry," and walked away from them. And that was it. 

Sandburg said, "After all this, a few days of hacking through the jungle is going to seem like a vacation, I swear!" 

"Smile when you say that, Chief," said Ellison grimly. "Tell me again before we reach the road." 

"You have no sense of adventure," Blair objected. 

"I had a sense of adventure, and it got shot," Jim countered. "You have no sense of reality." 

"Reality is overrated, man. And just what do you mean by reality, anyway? There's a whole lot of different realities out there..." Blair began, as Sentinel and Guide melted into the depths of the forest, bickering without cease. 

* * *

By the time the sun was low in the sky and the shadows were stretching along the ground, they'd both shut up. Couldn't argue when every swipe of the machete raised up a cloud of gnats and mosquitoes that seemed intent on diving right into your nose and mouth. But they'd found a rhythm soon enough, and were making better time than either of them had expected. It turned out to be easier if Sandburg took point with the machete, carrying a limited load, while Ellison followed, lugging the bulk of the crap and keeping Blair pointed in the right direction. When the going got really tough, they'd drop everything and take turns slashing way ahead, wrestling the jungle into cooperation, and ferrying the luggage up to the last open point in the trail they'd broken. Then they'd start the whole procedure up again. 

Still, Sandburg was right, it did beat the shit out of trying to convince your mother-in-law that you weren't letting her son starve. Jim grimaced to himself -- it had been bad enough persuading Naomi that associating with fascist pigs wasn't going to be the death of Blair, but now he had _two_ of Sandburg's moms to deal with! And what Naomi was going to say if she found out that her son was being investigated nightly by one of those fascist pigs... especially when she'd given every sign of being interested in a little up close and personal interrogation herself... with tongue and everything... maybe they could avoid the whole issue, Jim thought desperately. Maybe they could just keep slogging through the jungle and get themselves lost for another few years and avoid the whole issue. 

Jim wiped the grime and sweat from his brow and peered through the upper canopy. "I'd say we're just about losing the light, Chief. I can get us through for maybe another hour or two, if you want to...?" 

Blair paused and stretched a bit. "Whatever you want, man, whatever you think is best. Let's do it." 

Jim took another look at his Guide and thought better of it. "Actually, I don't know about you, but I could use a break. What do you say we call it a day?" 

Sandburg plopped himself down crosslegged in place and exhaled, "Bitchin'." And spat out a mouthful of gnats. 

Jim dropped the stuff he was carrying and gathered it all into a pile. "This is as good a place as any to spend the night," he said. "Why don't you clear us a firepit and I'll do something about bedding." 

With a stifled groan, Blair got to his feet and came back to join Ellison. "Bed is good, man. But don't go to any trouble on my account, I can sleep anywhere." It was like someone had pulled a plug to let hours of backed-up Blairtalk pour out. "You know that. We go camping all the time. We get kidnapped all the time too," he babbled. "You know, once I slept in the trunk of a car, did I ever tell you that? I can sleep on the ground no problem. I've slept in bathtubs, man, in those disgusting molded plastic seats in bus stations. You should see some of the places I've slept. I mean --" 

"Firepit," Jim cut him off, pointing at the spot where he wanted it dug. 

"Fire is a good idea too," Blair started, dropping lightly to his knees and scrabbling through the layers of decaying foliage until he could find clear ground. "I mean, fire is a great idea! Fire is _the_ idea, you know? The first idea, before the wheel, before painting or arrowheads even. It's such a great idea!" He picked a beetle out of the litter and watched it crawl over his hand with hardly a pause for breath. "I mean, it's warm here all the time, which is great, it's so great not to be cold for a change, you know?" He shook the beetle off. "But fire is good for light too, not that you need light, Jim, and dark is good, dark is natural, right? I don't have a problem with dark ..." 

Jim let him jabber on while he stripped off springy boughs he could use for bedding. Blair's heart was beating strong and steady, his breathing deep and calm. He was okay, just exhausted. He was just broadcasting. 

Over years of stakeouts and road trips and just living within spitting distance of each other Jim had learned that sometimes Blair talked, and other times he just... broadcasted. Radio Free Sandburg, all Blair all the time, broadcasting 24-7 over station KSEN on _all_ your dials. 

Sure, it was annoying as hell sometimes. But Jim wouldn't try to filter out or dial down his Guide's voice any more than he would try to stifle his heartbeat. And now Sandburg had learned how to do it with his mouth closed, which was truly frightening. Because most thoughts that Blair didn't vocalize aloud -- what damn little that was -- were part of an ongoing internal chat with himself that could bubble into unaware subvocalization at any moment, and that meant that from now on Radio Free Sandburg was _on the air_. 

What was he going to tell the guy: stop thinking so loud, Chief? 

So Jim had basically learned to consider it as much a part of his own personal atmosphere as Blair's heartbeat... but different broadcasts were important in different ways. Sometimes the words were important. Sometimes not. "Jim, look out!" could cut through a broadcast like an air raid siren, but it was the urgent tone and jackhammer heartbeat that went along with those words that really got Jim's attention. Same with "Jim, come back to me." It wasn't really the words that counted. Sandburg knew a thousand and one ways to say "Jim", and each one spoke volumes. 

When Sandburg was broadcasting, Jim paid as much attention to the rhythm, the tone, the air currents of his gestures, Blair's breathing, heartbeat and scent as to the words themselves. It was background music. His personal soundtrack. No matter what Blair was actually saying -- and make no mistake, it was often fascinating, sometimes brilliant -- the music told Jim what was important. Jim, I'm nervous. Jim, I'm scared. Jim, I have this incredible idea. Jim, I'm just so overjoyed with _life_. 

Jim, I'll follow your footsteps blindly through the pitch-black jungle, then drop to sleep in my tracks. Just watch where you swing that machete, okay? 

Music. 

Still, fuck that. 

Jim grinned to himself and listened to Sandburg describe how the first ceramics had been made as art devoted to the fire spirits. It was true that Sandburg could have been perfectly comfortable curled into a burrow of leaf litter, sleeping with beetles crawling through his hair. Hell, Ellison could have been happy with less. But he and Sandburg spent more than their share of nights together in every kind of lousy, dangerous, miserable, just plain fucked-up crazy circumstances imaginable. Tonight no one was chasing them, no one was shooting at them, and Jim was making them a bed. Because he could. 

Got a problem with that? 

Arms full of foliage, he turned back to Blair, who was sitting on the ground next to his firepit, still talking, part to Jim, part to himself, part to the lizard he was letting run up his arm. "You know, salamanders used to be considered fire spirits -- and I know this isn't a salamander, it's a lizard, but it just got me thinking, you know? People used to think salamanders could go unharmed through fire, I guess because they look kind of slimy." He looked up at Jim, shook off the lizard and smiled. "I mean most myth is based in fact, right?" 

The firepit was just fine, a large area cleared of organic debris with a small depression banked up in the center. They weren't cooking; they didn't need much. Jim smiled and dropped the bedding. "Sure, Chief," he grinned, and pointed at the pack basket. "Let's eat." 

"Yeah!" exclaimed Sandburg, launching himself at the basket and beginning to dig. "Oh, man, we hit the jackpot, Jim!" He pulled out a bundle of small packets of cassava paste wrapped in leaves. "Chopec grape leaves! Does Mamay rock or what!" Dug around some more, pulled out a container and opened the lid. "And bugs! The _fat_ kind!" 

Jim peeked into the container. The plump white grubs were crawling around in a bed of greens. "We'd better eat those tonight while they're still alive," he commented. He plucked one and popped it into his mouth. It burst between his teeth like a cherry tomato, spurting herb-tinged juice over his tongue. "She went through a lot of trouble to do all this for us." 

"She rocks!" Blair repeated. "We can skewer these over the fire and they'll get all drippy and sizzly." 

"Sadist," Jim smiled fondly, kneeling to arrange the bracken into a bed. 

"Hey, man, you like them _raw_. And _twitching_ ," Blair countered with a grin. Then his attention dove back into the basket. 

Jim finished spreading smooth palm fronds over the top of their bed, then moved to assemble a small fire in the pit, lighting it with one of their precious blue-tips. He used matches to keep the night at bay; Sandburg used them to make magic. Typical. 

In no time at all the food basket was much lighter. Night had fallen quietly, darkness closing around a small flickering circle. Jim stared at the fire absently, treating himself to sensations. Warm fire to his face, slight breeze at his back. The satisfying ache of muscles well used. Chirping insects, rustling leaves. Sandburg with a full, contented stomach, positively glowing in the firelight, going on about the pentatonic scale in Peruvian composition while under the surface he broadcasted his own music: Jim, I feel safe. Jim, the night is beautiful. Jim, it's good to be here with you. 

"Jim, check it out, I got this really great idea!" 

Jim glanced over at a grinning Sandburg and twitched a smile. "What's up, Chief?" 

"Gimme the matches." 

That got Jim's full attention. "Chief, what the hell is going on in that head of yours?" 

"Just go with me for a minute, okay?" Blair asked. "You're going to _love_ where we end up, I swear!" 

Famous last words. But he tossed Sandburg the matches just the same. 

Blair got up and stood behind him a few feet back. "Do you hear me, Jim?" 

"Is this a hearing test?" Jim chuckled. "You can do better than that." 

"No," Blair said, in a voice that was both calm and brimming with excitement. "I mean, do you _hear_ me?" 

Oh. Jim settled himself and tried to breathe deeply, the way Sandburg had taught him, letting all distracting sensations fall away before his Guide's voice, his Guide's heartbeat. "Yeah, I hear you," he answered softly, already half in trance. 

"Great. Now close your eyes and dial up touch." 

Easy enough. "Got it." 

"Okay. Now, the fire in front of you is warm, the air behind you is cool," Blair breathed in a slow, mesmerizing murmur. "Feel the difference... warm in front, cool behind... separate them... like a line running down your body... heat in front, cool behind... feel it..." 

"I feel it." It tingled, a line running around the outline of his body where the heat of the fire met the cool breeze at his back, two separate clear sensations barely touching in a tingling line. "I feel it." 

"Great." Jim heard the scratch of a blue-tip match behind him, and Blair said, "Now what?" 

"You lit a match." 

"Feel it," urged his Guide. "Feel the tiny point of heat behind you, separate from the larger heat in front. Separate from the cool air behind you. Feel it." 

Jim reached out to the tiny point of heat, a small flickering dot of fire behind his back, apart from everything else... "Yes." 

A pause. "What now?" 

He extended his sense of touch a little further, and said, "The match is out now." 

"But...?" Blair whispered urgently. 

But? But... Jim concentrated, trying to stretch a muscle that didn't physically exist. Contacted the slightest, tiniest spot of warmth. "But the match head is still smoldering," he said. "Right? It's still warm." 

"Yes!" Blair exclaimed. 

Jim opened his eyes to see Blair bounding into his face, beaming. It made him feel stupidly pleased with himself, and he didn't even know why. 

Blair sat crosslegged in front of him and leaned both palms on Jim's knees. "I got one word for you, Jim," he beamed. "Synesthesia." 

"Syn...? Is that a venereal disease or the girl who gave it to you?" 

Blair shook his head. "Don't play dumb with me, Jim. It's beneath you. Synesthesia," he repeated, and the hands were off and running. "The transmutation of sensory information. Like the piggyback thing taken to extremes, only much, much cooler! Tasting colors, hearing smells," he explained to Jim's blank look. "It's a documented phenomenon, and it has your name written all over it, dude!" 

Jim shook his head dubiously. "Hate to break it to you, Chief, but I don't really want to hear what I smell. Half the time I don't even want to _smell_ what I smell." 

"Yeah, but I got another word for you," Sandburg beamed, rocking slightly side to side, like a kid ready to spring a surprise. "Infrared. How'd you like to see heat, Tarzan?" 

Now _that_ was a word he could get behind, that was a word he could use! "If this works... You really think you can do that, Chief?" 

"I think _you_ can," Blair tempted. "Give it a shot?" 

"Hell yeah!" 

"Well, all right!" Blair leapt to his feet and started pacing, thinking, gesturing. "All we need is the right sensory key..." He stopped talking out loud for a moment, but Jim heard him broadcast, /key, sensory key, something you know well... warm.../ And suddenly Blair was stripping out of his clothes. "Get up, Jim!" 

"Uh... Sandburg... what are you doing?" Jim stood up and grinned. "Are we still on the same page here or did I miss something?" he asked, popping open the button fly of his pants. "Not that I mind..." 

A naked, radiant Sandburg bounded up to him and laughed, "Dude!" grabbing his hands. "You don't need to do that," he said. "I mean, you can if you want, hell, I got _no_ problem with that! But I wasn't thinking of that -- I mean not _explicitly_ ," he grinned. "At this exact moment." 

"Then how about giving me a clue, here, Chief?" Slightly embarrassed, rebuttoning his pants. 

Blair wriggled up against Jim's body and insinuated him into a hug. "Jim," he started, "you do about ninety times better with this stuff if I don't give you a clue! You do really well with linear, but sometimes linear is not what we want, get me?" He gazed up at Jim like he was asking for candy. "Just go sideways with me, okay? Please? Trust me?" 

Blair Sandburg, naked, squirming exuberantly in Jim's arms and begging, "Trust me..." It made Jim feel like there was steam pouring out his ears. He ran both hands down Blair's smooth back and squeezed his ass hard. "Kiss me," he said roughly. 

Blair threw his arms around Jim's neck and gave him a kiss that could stop the world on its axis. Then broke the kiss, leaned back and waited, smiling. 

"Tell me what to do," Jim whispered into Blair's neck. 

"C'mere," said Blair, stepping back and positioning Jim with his back to the fire. He took Jim's broad hands and plunked them onto his shoulders. "Okay now," he said intently, trapping Jim into his gaze. "You know me, right? You _know_ this body," gesturing at himself, "you could probably map every inch of it, right?" 

Jim snorted a laugh. "You're pretty full of yourself there, Chief." 

"Am I wrong or am I right?" 

Sigh. "You're right." 

"Right. Close your eyes and dial up touch." 

"Fine." 

"Okay." Pause. "Imagine my body, but concentrate on my body heat... Find the contours of my body, but paint them in heat..." 

Ellison concentrated and ran his fingertips over Blair's torso, hardly even touching him, touching the warm air that touched him. "You're warm, yeah Chief... but it's not like I see it or anything..." 

"Use your touch to guide your sight." 

"My eyes are closed." 

"Doesn't matter. You've used infrared scopes, you know what heat is supposed to look like. Use it as a... a metaphor. You're letting your eyes know how to interpret the information so they'll know what to look for when they're open. Nice and linear." 

"Sez you." 

"It's getting late. You want to stand here and bitch all night?" 

"So what else is new?" 

Sigh. "You know, if you want me to whup your ass, it can be arranged." 

Ellison coiled and his eyes snapped open. Blair stood there smiling, and reached out one hand to lightly touch his shoulder. "Just kidding," the Guide said mildy. But the music said different. 

Ellison's eyes narrowed, but Blair met his gaze implacably, openly, still smiling patiently. They stood in place, eye to eye, with their fingertips lightly to each other's chest, with a tension that positively crackled between them... 

But then Sandburg laughed and shook his head. "Come on. We're just wasting energy. It's late, we're both beat, let's forget this and get some sleep." He broke contact with Jim to brush his hair from his eyes, and turned toward the fire. 

"No, wait, let's do it," Jim blurted before he could stop himself. 

"Nah, man, we're both getting punchy. It was a dumb idea anyway, let's go to bed." 

"Come on, Sandburg!" Jim growled. "Let's just do this and get it over with already!" 

Blair threw up his hands and sighed, "Fine. All right. Whatever." He moved them both back into position. "Now close your damn eyes and let's do this." 

Jim closed his eyes. "Fine. You're still fucking warm." 

"You piss me off. Put the scopes on, asshole." 

"Just watch me." In his mind Jim took what he knew of Blair's body, all the slopes and planes and contours, and matched them slowly with the dips and rises of the heat he could sense coming off that same body. Like plotting points on a topological map. The higher points were brighter, the cooler points were darker. Easy. Just like using a scope. "Got it. No problem." 

"Fine." Sandburg broke contact with him and took a step back. "Still got it?" 

"Got it." No problem. He was glowing red against the cooler air. 

"You think so?" said Blair. "Now what?" 

The warm red glow in Jim's mind moved one arm. "You raised your right arm to the side," Jim said. 

"Oh yeah? How many fingers?" 

Jim concentrated, finding the heat and imagining that he was focusing the heat the way he focused his eyes. Tightening the beam. Blair's hand zoomed into sharp red resolution. "Three fingers, Chief." 

Blair exhaled, "Yeah..." /Shit. Eyes closed!/ 

With his _eyes_ closed! Jim froze. "Chief! Holy shit!" 

"Don't move!" Blair gasped, bubbling with excitement. "Don't do anything. Stay right there." He turned and ran off. Jim could see -- see! -- his heat signature fading into the dark. 

/Okay,/ Blair's voice came on the air. /Open your eyes and find me./ 

Jim opened his eyes. It was dark, but he could feel the difference between the heat of the fire behind him and the cooler air in front. He cast out his tactile sense, reaching for heat in front of him that was separate from the fire behind. He could use what little light and shadow his eyes could distinguish to guide the sense of touch toward the heat. He could map the heat and interpret the map by reading it like an infrared scope. Blair was standing hidden in the deep, broken shadows-against-shadows of a clump of saplings, about 20 yards off. His body was radiant with heat. 

/How many fingers?/ He raised both glowing arms. He was holding... 

"Two thumbs up, Chief!" 

"YOU RULE!" Blair jumped and pumped his fists in the air. He plunged through the stand of saplings and launched himself at Jim like he was going to leap right into his chest, but instead just slammed up against him, rocking them both back a step, and wrapped himself around Jim, wrapped his arms around his neck and grabbed his head and kissed him, huge and wet and sloppy, wrapping Jim in enthusiastic joy. Under the kiss he was bubbling, /you can do anything, anything, anything! Fucking wonderful!/ 

Jim grabbed him by the hair and gnawed into his ear, "You're a fucking genius!" 

Blair threw his head back and howled, "I got a million of 'em!" 

"I can see you in the dark, I can see you with my eyes closed!" Jim hissed. 

"YES!" 

"I can hear you with your mouth shut!" 

"YES! Oh god Jim, I know that must suck!" But he was screaming with laughter as he said it. 

Suddenly Jim was laughing too. "Sometimes it _really_ sucks," he bit into Blair's neck. 

Blair gasped "Oh god Jim," but he was still laughing. "I'm so sorry!" He grabbed Jim's face and kissed him again. He rocked against Jim's chest and lost both their footing and "Oof!" into Jim's mouth as they tumbled to the ground, still giggling madly. 

"We have a bed," Jim growled into Blair's neck as he rolled them over, crushing himself against Blair's giggling, squirming body. 

"Yes we do," gasped Blair. "Thanks for the bed, Jim." He wriggled out from underneath Jim -- the tickling ripple of Blair's hairy body up his chest sent Jim reeling -- and scrambled for the bed. Jim took off after him, throwing himself onto the pile of fronds and tearing open the buttons of his fly with one hand. Blair grabbed his pants and yanked them down to his ankles, catching them on Jim's boots; he laughed as Jim kicked and cursed and they both managed to work everything off without booting Sandburg in the face. 

Tossing Jim's pants to one side, Blair collapsed on top of him, wriggled all over him, licking into his ear, "I love you, I love you, you can do anything, you're so fucking wonderful..." as he stroked his face and neck, writhing, stroking Jim's body with his hair and skin, trapping Jim's cock between his legs and sliding, grinding it against his own in their matted sweaty hair. 

"God, Chief, god," Jim panted, hands groping for Blair's ass and digging into the tight rich muscles. "Just... just.. please..." 

" _Anything_ , Jim," Blair hissed, grinding his hips tightly into Jim's groin. 

And Jim started laughing heartily, gasping through the laughter, "Just try... not to... _think_ so goddamn loud all the time, okay, Chief?" 

Blair burst into laughter too and flopped over onto the leaves beside him. "Oh, man!" he exclaimed, hiccupping with giggles. "You got it! I mean, as much as I can, I'll try to watch out for it, I'm really sorry, man, that really must suck..." 

Jim felt giddy. And Sandburg really was asking for it. He rolled over and knelt up, straddling Blair's shoulders, and smiled down at him. "Just shut up," he rumbled, rolling his head back, "and suck already." 

/I can do that too,/ said Blair with his mouth full. 

* * *

In the dead of night, Sandburg woke to Jim's huge hand -- it felt huge \-- covering his mouth, and Jim's voice whispering, "Freeze." 

Blair froze. It was dark, the fire was out, he couldn't see for shit. Most of him froze; but in his throat he was going, /whatisit whatisit Jim Jim whatisit?/ 

"Shhh," Jim whispered. "Just relax and don't move." Blair thought he heard Jim fumbling into the brush beside him, and thought he felt something tickling his throat. Something _not_ Jim tickling his throat -- /oh god not Jim Jim god not Jim oh god oh Jim oh shit whatisit Jim whatisit/ 

"Shhh," Jim whispered. "Stay still. Close your eyes, misq'iy." Blair squeezed shut his eyes and something _twitched_ and something _flicked_ and he flinched in spite of himself against the pressure of Jim's hand and then the hand was released and he shuddered and exhaled and Jim settled back down beside him. "It's okay, Chief, go back to sleep." 

"What was that!" Blair screeched. 

"Nothing, go to sleep," Jim mumbled into his neck. 

Blair sat up like a shot and poked him in the shoulder. "Why did you wake me up?" 

"Didn't want you to wake up in the middle and flinch before I got it off you," Jim grumbled and rolled over. 

He poked Jim again. "Jim! What was it? Jim! You're not going to sleep until you tell me! La la la la! Jim, I'll sing, I swear I will! What was that?" 

Jim rolled back onto his back and pulled Blair on top of him. "Just a scorpion," he grumbled. "I gotcha covered, Chief. Go to sleep." 

"A sc -- what!" Blair squawked into Jim's chest, flailing his arms. 

"Shhh, misq'iy, sleep. I got you covered," Jim mumbled, rubbing in long smooth strokes up and down his back. Blair settled against his chest and slowly calmed down. 

"Jim?" he whispered. 

Jim grunted. 

"Jim? Next time, don't wake me up, okay?" 

Jim nodded and rolled them both over and rumbled, "Covered." 

* * *

Blair had no problem with dark, and Jim had them covered. The second night, they hiked well past sunset and camped without a fire. Because they could. 

* * *

"So there are these two guys, see..." Sandburg declaimed with theatrical gestures, squinting at the brilliant sky from under the visor of Jim's Jags cap, "these two total _clowns_ are stuck in the middle of nowhere, and there aren't any _trees!_ " 

"There's a tree right over there," said Jim, pointing. 

"Yeah, there's _one_ tree," Blair conceded. "That's right." He shifted his pack and looked around. There was one, count it, one tree. The rest was broad, rolling, verdant, rock-strewn -- pastureland. As far as the eye could see. Almost as far as the mountains. And the mountains were tiny, dark and green, misty, far away, like another world. 

They'd found the road early that morning and followed it, and the more they followed it the more it led them into civilization. 

But civilization didn't always mean people. And roads didn't always mean rides. 

"And these two guys, they've been walking for _ever_ , seems like, and they stop under the one tree," Blair continued, stopping under the tree and leaning against the trunk to pick a rock from the sole of his boot. 

"And they're waiting for something that _never comes_!" he yelled, throwing his head back and his arms out to the universe. 

A bird in the tree heard him and startled into flight, squawking off into the distance. 

Jim rolled his eyes. "Are you done now?" 

"I am not even started yet! There's a whole dance routine coming up!" 

"Drink this," Jim said, pushing a water bottle at him. "Take a load off. You're going to boil your brain if you keep going on like that." 

Blair took the water. "Sorry, Jim. Thanks." 

"And we don't have the water to waste on you screaming at the top of your lungs," Jim pointed out. 

"Yeah, I know," Blair sighed. "Sorry. I was just... This place reminded me of something I used to read a lot and I was getting... literary there for a moment." He took a drink of water. 

"And you're being really annoying, Chief. Really," Jim said tersely. 

"Really?" Blair questioned perkily. 

Jim threw him a look that could shatter glass. "Give me my hat," he said quietly. Blair passed him the Jags cap and Jim jammed it on his head. "Something will come along soon enough," Jim continued reasonably. "Or we'll find somewhere with a phone or a radio we can use to arrange some kind of ride. We're making good time." Blair passed him back the water bottle and Jim took a drink. "As long as you don't slow us down by yelling yourself into heat exhaustion." He pulled strips of smoked meat out of the nearly empty pack basket. "Here. Eat this," he said, offering one to Blair. 

Blair shook his head. "No thanks, Jim. I'd just as soon not eat another monkey for a long, long time. A little too close to home, you know?" 

Jim paused with the food halfway to his mouth. "And for the past how many weeks you've been eating exactly what, Darwin?" he asked pseudo-suspiciously. 

"Ha ha that's funny, Jim," Blair deadpanned. "I mean, when it comes down to it, well, sure, when in Peru, you do as the Chopec -- people work hard to put that on the table. But as long as there's a choice, come on," he shrugged, "99% of your DNA and everything, it's a little too Donner party for me, dude. Can I have some more water?" he asked, and Jim passed the water bottle back automatically. 

Seemingly oblivious to Jim's baffled look, Blair continued, "Though we are in the right part of the world for that, macrogeographically speaking, of course," taking a big swig. "That planeload of athletes went down into the Chilean Andes, right?" He glanced over to Jim and failed to swallow just a tiny flash of grin. 

Jim groaned out of his pack. "You're sick, Sandburg," he said. 

"I'm sick?" Blair mock-protested happily. "We are in the right part of the world for sick, mi amigo, macrogeographically speaking, of course. Way up north Mexico way the Aztecs chowed down human brains on a regular basis. So one man's sick is another man's sweetbreads." He shrugged and rocked a bit on his heels. "But hey, they also did coffee enemas, and while that's not someplace I'd ordinarily go, right now a big fucking iced coffee sounds so damn good that I wouldn't put it past myself to \--" 

"Whoa!" called Jim, throwing up his hands in a big Time Out. "Stop right there!" He boggled. "Where do you get this stuff? Are you feeling okay, Chief?" 

Blair laughed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jim, I'm just letting off steam, I guess." He sighed and looked around them at the road and landscape. "You know, I must have read 'Waiting for Godot' about 20 times when I was a kid, and I never wondered why there were no trees..." he mused, "I mean yeah, _metaphysically_ , sure, solitary universe and all... but it never occurred to me," he continued with a tense little laugh, "that it really might have been because some lousy _qowi_ -fucking _asna'ya_ had cut them all down!" he ranted. 

"Jesus, Sandburg!" Jim exclaimed. He stared at Blair for a moment, and added, "Sit down, right now," putting his hand on Blair's shoulder and encouraging him to sit in the shade of the tree. "You are all over the place, Chief," he said with concern, sitting down beside him. "I mean," he shrugged with a nanosmile, "ordinarily you're the weirdest person I know --" 

"Thanks man, coming from you that's a compliment." 

Jim groaned and continued, "-- but right now you have me worried that your brains are frying. We need those brains. Weird and all. Drink more," he urged. 

"Hey man, weird is line one in the job description," Blair said, taking another drink. "They put ads in the paper --" using his free hand to line up the words in the air before him -- "Shaman Wanted: Must Be Weird." 

"Yeah, well, that's just an excuse. You don't have to cultivate it, you know," Jim groused. "Professional lunatic isn't exactly what I'd want on my resume." 

"Depends on the job," Blair countered reasonably. "It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it." He looked curiously at Jim for a moment, then glanced away. "I'm glad I was able to help Riri and Kipu, after all," he mentioned. "Kipu's a great kid." 

"Yeah," Jim said. He glanced at Blair, took a breath and grumbled, "Qisa says the kid said he wants to be a shaman when he grows up." 

"Really? Wow!" Blair bounced, brightening immediately. "That would be perfect!" 

"No, it wouldn't!" Jim blurted. "He and Riri aren't too thrilled about it." 

"Why not?" Blair asked, a bit offended, the bounce losing altitude. "Kipu's bright, imaginative, introspective..." 

"You mean he's the loner that everyone beats up on," Jim pointed out. 

Blair flinched and looked askance at his partner. "Harsh, Jim." 

"It's true," Jim said gently. 

"Yeah, well, someone's got to do it. It's not just going to be you and me forever, Jungle Jim," Blair retorted, rallying. "Someone has to watch out for the Chopec, and it can't always be two gringos to the rescue." He leapt to his feet, paced a few feet away, then turned back to face Jim. "Or am I the only one who doesn't get a kick out of this whole White Man's Burden scenario?" he asked pointedly. 

"Jesus, Blair!" 

"Jim, it's great, it's -- it's an honor, the honor of my life," Blair insisted, starting to pace, "that the Chopec have accepted me this way, but you and I can't always be there, and _won't_ always be there. Shit happens. Someone has to be ready," he said simply. "And I don't know about you, but I'd rather that someone be a Chopec." 

"But, Kipu? That little kid?" 

Blair shrugged. "He can start to learn now. If he can start to learn to hunt, he can start to learn a lot of things. At least he wants to do it." 

"Well, he's just a kid, and Qisa thinks it's because he's been without a dad for so long. Now that he's around he can be more of an... influence on the kid, I guess." 

"Oh, an _influence_ ," Blair repeated, nodding emphatically. 

"Yeah," Jim said, embarrassed. 

Blair sighed and tightened his lips, frowning. "Not every shaman takes it up the ass. Or pitches, you know. Or do you?" 

Jim scrambled to his feet. "Jesus, Blair!" 

"Then what!?" Blair exploded. "What the fuck else are we talking about here?" He threw his arms up in the air and paced back and forth in front of Jim. "We're not talking about _protecting the tribe_ , oh no, because big macho monkey-gutting warriors are a _great_ influence on the kid, time to teach him to _kill_ , right, Jim? If it really was about _protecting the tribe_ there'd be no problem, because that's what a shaman does, right, Jim? Right? So it's not about _what_ a shaman does, maybe it's about _who_ a shaman does -- or rather who _this_ shaman does! And maybe it's a good idea that _this_ shaman doesn't become an _influence_! Right, Jim? Am I right?" 

"For god's sake, Blair!" spluttered Jim. "It's not about -- you can't \-- you can't _blame_ Qisa and Riri for wanting their son to be _normal_!" He tried to explain, "Not everyone wants their kid to grow up to be the town freak!" 

Blair stopped dead and stared at Jim, frankly astounded. "Hello?" he asked, cupping one hand around his ear. "I hear an Ellison calling, but his name sure ain't Jim!" 

"What the fuck does that mean?" Jim bellowed, the tendons in his neck cabling. 

"I mean that you spell the F-word F-R-E-A-K, and you _only_ use it when you're channeling Wild Bill!" 

"Listen, you hairy little --" Ellison yelled, grabbing Blair by the t-shirt, stretching the fabric and yanking Blair into his face. Then he froze for a moment before continuing: "Truck!" He turned suddenly and walked into the middle of the empty road, scanning the horizon. 

"What? Hairy little truck?" Blair asked, then switched gears. "Oh! Truck!" He pulled Jim off the road. "Here. You sit down. How long before it gets here?" 

"What? Just a minute," Jim said. "I'm going to flag it down." 

"No, no!" protested Blair. "You scary, me fun, remember? Sit under the tree with our stuff, and I'll flag it down. And put your shirt on!" He moved Jim into position. "You standing in the middle of the road says, 'Hi, I'm going to hit you over the head and steal your truck'," he explained, trotting back into the middle of the road. "Me standing in the middle of the road says, 'Hi, I'm a stupid tourist, and me and my lunkhead friend are lost'," he grinned. 

"Lunkhead?" Jim growled, shrugging into a t-shirt. 

"Better than Godzilla," Blair pointed out, catching sight of the pickup truck growing larger as it sped up the hilly road. "If you want to hitch a ride, that is." He waved his arms over his head. 

It turned out after a little negotiation in Spanish with the driver that about twenty bucks American could get them a lift all the way to Iquitos, provided they didn't mind riding in the truck bed. 

Sandburg had no problem with truck bed. Neither did Lunkhead. 

* * *

"Wahoo! We are On The Road!" yelled Sandburg with the wind whipping tendrils from his ponytail and his fists in the air, kneeling up in the bed of the pickup at 70 miles an hour. "We are as good as on the plane! We are at Wonder Burger, man!" 

"Sit down!" Ellison yelled, yanking him by the belt loops of his cutoffs until Blair toppled beside him. "We have an eight-hour drive to go! And then some!" 

"Aw, come on, Jim, this makes me feel like a kid again!" 

"And that would be what, last week?" 

Blair rolled his eyes happily. "I grew up in the back of one truck or another, Jim! This thing is like a rocking cradle to me, bumps and all! Naomi always said that when I was a baby she used to have to drive around with me half the night to get me to go to sleep. She says it was the karmic price she paid for being on the road so much when she was pregnant. And when I was born. And when --" 

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." 

"This," Blair said, waving an arm to encompass the speeding landscape, "this is like coming home, man." He closed his eyes and rocked to the rhythm of the wheels hitting the road, humming a few bars of the blues to himself before coming out with a quiet wail of "Cryyyyy, cryyyyyy baaaaaby!" in a surprisingly decent falsetto. 

"You can sing," Jim said, surprised. 

Blair opened his eyes and looked at him funny for a second. "Come on man," he said. "Mom's friends with their collections of Sixties classics, whaddaya think? Had to find my role models somewhere. I was a short kid with curly hair, horny as a goat. Ergo, Robert Plant, Roger Daltrey. Why do you think Naomi gave me that guitar? She had to give me something else to wang on!" He demonstrated with a little masturbatory air-guitar solo a la Page. 

Jim snorted. "So, you were like in a band or something?" 

"Oh sure, man!" Blair bragged. "Humpin' amps, humpin' babes..." He looked at Jim from the corner of his eye to judge the effect, caught the "yeah, right" microgrin on his partner's face, and deflated. "No, Jim," he sighed. "To be in a band you have to stay in one place long enough to practice with people. Most of the time it was just me and Purple Haze in the bedroom. Most of the time I didn't even have an amp. All the music's up here, my friend," he said, tapping his head and wiggling his eyebrows. "And out there," waving at the road zipping past. 

"That's gotta suck, Chief," Jim said, brow wrinkled in retroactive concern. 

A slow smile bloomed on Blair's face. "You could have heard it, Jim. If you'd been there, you could have heard it. Even without an amp, I heard the sound of the strings. You could have heard it like a concert. I could have played for you, and you'd have heard it no problem." 

Jim put on his best grump expression. "Well, you're not a kid now, and I'm not Naomi. The last thing we need is for you to go flying ass over head out of the truck. And then we'd be stranded again because the driver would _know_ you're a fucking psycho." 

"The only people for me are the mad ones," Blair chanted happily, reclining on the truck bed with one elbow on his pack. "The ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time --" 

"-- the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn..." Jim continued, enjoying his Guide enjoying the glory of sheer movement. He shook his head with a twitch of smile. "Talking about you, Chief." 

"Isn't that what I keep telling you?" Blair insisted gleefully. 

"He was also talking about Cassady, and Cassady got drunk one night and got hit by a train," Jim answered more seriously. 

"Cassady didn't have a Sentinel to keep an eye on," Blair grinned and reached out to take Jim's hand. "We're going home, Jim." He rolled over onto his back, his blue eyes soaking up the blue sky. "Home, man! What a word... never whoulda thunk it..." 

"Yeah," Jim said, looking down at Blair's hand in his. Blair's filthy broken fingernails, jungle-grimy brown hand. Sweaty, wild-musk and moss-smelling fingers, whorls on the fingertips scarred and callused but deeply etched like labyrinths -- 

Jim jerked his head up with a snort, reflexively squeezing Blair's hand in his. "It's going to be weird," he blurted. 

"You think?" Blair laughed, squeezing back but not taking his eyes off the endless, cloudless sky. 

"I think," Jim said. He exhaled. "I think it would be a better idea if we went straight back to the loft instead of the cabin." He let Blair's hand drop. "Back to the World." 

"Right with you there, man," Blair agreed, lacing his hands behind his head. Then he popped up, pulled the elastic from his ponytail and gave his head a shake. "I'm thinking you, me, ESPN, fire in the fireplace, Triple Jade with Garlic Sauce only a phone call away..." He lay back down with his hands behind his head and _wriggled_ , a long insinuating ripple running down his entire body. "Hell yeah..." 

"I'm thinking," Jim cleared his throat and continued, "that maybe we shouldn't be getting too... " he shrugged and looked down and mumbled, "...comfortable..." 

Blair sprang upright. "Who's comfortable?" he asked quickly, sliding over to face Jim with his back propped against the far wall of the truck bed. He stretched out and casually crossed his legs. "Though a flush toilet might be nice..." he added wryly, risking just a quick once-over of Jim's face. 

Jim's face was a granite block, tense with seismic activity below the surface. His eyes were pale and pleading. "Chief," he said, "back to the World, Chief..." 

"Riiiiiight," Blair nodded slowly. "Of course, Captain. Back to the World. Nice and neat. Like a fucking guillotine. That's cool. Nothing lasts," and he was still nodding, a bit faster now, breathing a bit faster too, and the hands were popping from his lap like popcorn on the burner. "That's cool. I hear that. Everything back in the nice little box." 

"Chief! You can't..." Jim's neck and shoulders strained like everything from the neck up was trying to keep the rest of him from springing to Sandburg's side. His fists clenched in his lap and he closed his eyes. "Come on, Chief! You can't live in Cascade like it's the middle of a jungle!" 

"No worries, man!" Blair said, arms flying a cross-hatch defense in front of him. "I hear you. It's all good. Hell, it's all great! It's been real, man, it's been _surreal_ in fact, but you're right, gotta know when to say when, I mean this is the topper, right? And what a hell of a finish, talk about your big bang of a finish, I mean no pun intended, I am not going there, believe me that is one thing you don't have to worry about Jim because there are some things even I know to keep out of the public sphere, I mean even if they wouldn't throw me out of the program it's not something I'd want to address in my defense, you know?" 

Jim's eyes flew open. "What the fuck are you talking about?" 

"Hell, Jim, what do you think I'm talking about? My dissertation! What an ending! This'll be bigger than 'The Serpent and the Rainbow'! We are talking Castanedaville here, man! I mean once I get done with changing all the names and everything, for fuck's sake even I know enough to change the names to protect the innocent, right, Joe Friday?" He didn't give Jim a breath's space to respond before plowing on. "I mean, initiation as a shaman? That's gotta blow the committee's mind!" He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his elbows on them. 

"You're talking about your _dissertation_?" Jim exclaimed, catching up, eyes practically bugging out of his head. "I was talking about... about \-- I was talking about _things_ here, real life things!" 

"Yeah, well, so am I," Blair nodded, as if he were prompting a slow student. "And you're right, I mean, what could top this little excursion, right? I'd have to come up with a hell of an encore! So it's really cool that we're heading right back to Cascade, in fact it's really convenient, dude, it gives me some extra time to get my shit together, get my crap out of your hair, get my hair out of your crap. That is, if you don't mind my taking maybe a couple of days, Jim, if a couple of days is cool with you...?" 

"Chief!" Jim blurt out, exasperated. "All I did was mention --" 

"It's cool, Jim," Sandburg the steamroller assured him, "you don't have to draw me stick figures. I may have overstayed my welcome, but at least I hear the clue bell when it tolls for me." 

"Sandburg, slow down!" Jim almost yelled. He paused a moment, but continued before Blair could start up again. "Stop a minute, Chief, and just _pretend_ you're talking to someone who can't read your mind, for god's sake!" 

Blair laughed the most bitter laugh Jim had ever heard from him. /And who would that be, Jim?/ 

Jim's breath caught. "Goddammit, Chief..." he whispered. 

"Let me put it in small words, Jim," said Blair. "Nice clean little color-coded boxes. Back to the World, right, Jim?" 

"Well, that's what I said..." 

"No more you, me, hot-cha-cha, right?" 

"Well, yeah..." 

"So this little soldier knows marching orders when he hears them, Captain. It's cool. Give me a couple of days when we get back to the World, and it's hasta luego. Tell Simon thanks for putting up with me, and I'll send him a real nice letter and a basket of fruit or something. And you're both invited to dinner with champagne when I pass my defense, and you're both invited to my graduation. I mean, I wish I could do more, but if I want to keep your name out of my dissertation I can't even dedicate it to you or anything, you know? Sorry, man." 

"Sandburg, that's..." 

"It's been really cool, man. Thanks." 

"Sandburg!" Jim yelled frantically, cramming the words in edgewise. "Nobody said you had to _leave_ , for fuck's sake! It doesn't have to ... change ... anything," he struggled to explain. "We just leave it where it belongs. We go back to how it was." 

Blair stared at him with his mouth open and a part of Jim's mind realized he'd finally found something that would Shut Sandburg Up. 

For a moment, anyway. "You're kidding, right, Jim?" Blair ventured, a nervous smile skittering over his face. "Don't fuck with my head like this, man, it's been a long day and I'm dancing as fast as I can here. You just told me you don't want to fuck me anymore, right?" 

Jim sat up straight and said, "Right. Yes. That's right." But the voice was kind of rough. 

"That's _after_ you told me you think of me as the town freak, with all the glory that implies on Planet Ellison." 

Jim grimaced. "I didn't mean it like --" 

"And you still want me to _live_ with you?" Blair slammed the words in, stiletto-sharp. 

"Chief, I didn't think --" 

"No, man, you didn't think!" Blair laughed, shaking his head, eyes registering disbelief. "You sincerely did not think. That was a masterpiece of not-thought, that was. Come on, Jim! You really expect to just pick up where we left off?" 

Jim looked over and was trapped into the depths of Blair's steady, incisive gaze. He couldn't reply, he could only shrug helplessly. 

Blair pushed on. "You want me to keep living in that little room in your loft? Riding in the cozy little cab of your truck? Making dinner with you, sorting the goddamned color-coded laundry with you, doing hours of tedious paperwork with you -- _for_ you -- watching the game next to you on the sofa -- _without_ my feet on the goddamned coffee table... and that's not even going into the serial killers, bullet holes and car crashes, that's just _gravy_ \-- and never being able to touch you? Knowing what we've been to each other? Knowing what you _think_ of me?" 

"Chief," Jim groaned. "Not like that, it's never been like that. I don't think of you like -- I've always... touched you," he insisted. 

"Well, I don't know about you, but I don't have that much strength of character," Blair admitted. "What about you? How about it? Me, steaming up the shower, sleeping in that little room, dirty socks in the hamper..." He cocked his head and looked at Jim strangely. "What would it smell like, Jim? How would it feel to hear my heartbeat, smell my scent so close, have me all around you all the time... and never be able to touch? Would it smell... familiar?" 

Jim rolled his head back and groaned, "Stop..." 

Blair shook his head sadly and went on. "Because I can't do it anymore, Jim, I know I can't do it, and I don't even have the senses. I can't touch you and not want you, Jim. I never have," he said softly. "Always, always wanted you, always want you. I can't not want you. I never even had to touch you to want you, and my gods, I need to touch you like nothing else on earth, Jim." He shuddered and looked off to the speeding horizon, clutching both arms around his knees. "No matter what kind of freak that makes me." 

"Blair!" Jim pleaded hoarsely. 

"Jim," Blair whispered softly, eyes still far away. "I need to touch you." /Need to touch you, Jim./ 

A desperate tremble ran through Jim from head to toe, and his eyes flew to the window in the back of the truck's cab, through which he could see the driver impassively watching the road ahead. 

Blair followed his glance and chuckled sadly. "Yeah..." he sighed, and looked away. 

Jim slowly knelt up, reached out, leaned across the space between them and lightly laid his hand on Blair's knee. Blair shuddered and closed his eyes. "Gods, Jim, gods..." 

"Blair," Jim croaked. "Please, I... I -- " 

Blair looked over into a pair of eyes like pale cracking ice. 

"What do we do, Chief?" Jim begged. "Please, misq'iy. What do we do now?" 

"God damn you, Jim," Blair breathed, dropping his head onto his knees, forehead burning into the back of Jim's hand. "Why do we always have to do everything the hard way?" He looked up at Jim, full of love and fatigue and exasperation. "Why," he abruptly erupted into Jim's face, "do you always make us go through _hell_ and back to get to the real question?" Suddenly he grabbed Jim and pulled him back against the wall of the truck bed beside him. Wrapping both arms around his Sentinel's waist, he leaned into his shoulder. "I hate you," he whispered brokenly into Jim's chest. "You suck," he insisted, voice catching. "You motherfucking asshole," he hissed sharply as Jim's arm slid around him, held him, rocking him. 

Jim leaned into the top of Blair's tangled, unwashed head. He spared one quick glance at the still-thank-god-oblivious driver and wrapped his other arm around his partner, pulling him against his chest, rocking him tightly and whispering, "Sorry, sorry Chief, sorry...." Blair clung to him, cursing him and telling him how much he sucked with increasingly ingenious complexity in an increasingly calm, relaxed murmur. 

Finally, the whisper stopped, and Sandburg mumbled into his armpit, "Coulda just asked, asshole." 

"I'm an asshole." Jim said it like a promise. 

Blair shook his head. "You're not an asshole, Jim. We have shit to talk about, absolutely. But Jesus on a pogo stick, man!" He glared up at Jim. "The train wreck is optional!" 

"Sorry, Chief," Jim said again. "I -- I'm trying my best here." 

"You try like you drive, man!" 

"Hey!" Jim protested. "Now that's low!" He deflated. "Yeah, I suck. I just... want to do what's right here, Chief." 

"There's your first mistake," Blair snorted. 

"Look, you know as well as I do there are _reasons_ \-- there are ways to do things and we can't ... do what we like because ... there are _reasons_ ," Jim explained reasonably. 

"I know exactly what you're saying," Blair nodded, thinking how truly weird it was that he did. "There are perfectly good reasons why we have to play these particular cards really close to the chest, dude, I am with you one hundred percent here. But that does _not_ mean we're going to fold!" He dug his fingers into Jim's arm, caught Jim's eyes in a dark, feral stare. "Fold is _not_ an option, Captain!" he said fiercely. 

Jim looked at Blair like he was seeing him for the first time, like every time was the first time. "You're right," he said, like the one thing he was looking for just fell into his lap. "Fold isn't an option. So what do we do now?" 

"What do you think? We play the hand we're dealt, man. And we cheat," Blair shrugged, and scrambled to sit up straight next to him. "Covert Ops. Obfuscations. Business as usual, if you ask me." He glanced over at Jim slyly and ran one finger up his ribs. "Plus hot-cha-cha, of course." 

"Of course," Jim answered gamely. 

"That's assuming," Blair jabbed the finger, "that you can bring yourself to do the wild thing with the town freak." 

"Come on, Sandburg! Don't you ever let up?" Jim groused, flinching. "I said I was sorry." 

Blair pulled hair out of his mouth. "I know you're sorry. I'm sorry too. We're not kids, Jim. Sorry doesn't make it go away." He shrugged. "Still there, still gotta talk about it." 

Jim's face said that a tax audit would be a preferred alternative. 

"You got a better idea, Jim? Look around," Blair said with a sweep of his arm. "Plenty of nothing going by at way over whatever the speed limit is around here. Hours of it. Cascade is getting closer by the minute, and once we get on the plane it just starts getting closer faster. We have a lot of shit to sort out. To _process_ ," he emphasized. "I don't know about you, but I don't want to do it hurtling over the Pacific packed into a tin can alongside hundreds of my closest sardine friends. Know what I mean, kemosabe?" 

Jim grimaced and nodded. "Yeah..." He sighed, then sat up as if he'd made a decision, taking a deep breath and starting, "Chief, you know I don't think of you as a freak. I mean, not anymore. Not in a bad way," he continued lamely, then caught his idea and went on, "It's not me, it's everyone else -- wait, let me finish," he said, holding up his hand at Blair's tell-tale intake of breath. "Gimme a minute here, Chief." He paused and Blair nodded, motioning him to go on. 

"Okay," Jim said. "I look at you and me from the inside out, and I see... you and me. It's the most natural thing in the world, or the most amazing thing in the world, or maybe both sometimes. But it's you and me. Even the crap -- it's you and me crap. Everybody else, though," he sighed, "looks at us from the outside in, and they see --" 

"'Midnight Cowboy'," Blair interrupted, nodding eagerly. "Pinky and the Brain." 

"Who the hell is that?" Jim spat. 

"Sorry, man, cartoon reference," Blair replied, wiping it out of the air with his hand. "But I see what you mean. I know where you're coming from, and I get where you're going." 

"You get it? Even if I think of you as weird, and believe me Chief, you are twelve o'clock high on the weird clock -- " 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." 

"I don't think of you as weird the same way _they_ think of you. Us. It. As weird," Jim clarified. 

"And 'they' think weird is bad, all kinds of weird is bad," Blair expanded, making little quote marks in the air at appropriate points, "and you worry about what 'they' think." 

"That's right," Jim said, nodding. "We have to live in their world, Chief." 

"We have to live in a fucked-up world _sometimes_ , Jim," Blair shook his head. "A fucked-up world," he repeated wistfully, then snorted a laugh. "You know... you know what my first thoughts were the moment I saw you?" he suddenly asked Jim, touching him on the shoulder. "In the hospital. I pushed my way in there with the chart and the lab coat and looked at you, and you know what I thought?" 

"There's a sucker born every minute?" 

"I thought, 'Holy shit, it's you!'," Blair said. "I swear to god, Jim." 

"You're shitting me." Jim stared. "I think I heard you," he said softly. 

"What!" 

"I think..." Jim persisted. "There was a _lot_ of shit going on in that hospital, Chief. It was hard to separate everything enough to keep my head on straight as it was, you know?" Blair nodded and Jim continued, "But I know it wasn't me who was thinking that, I just _heard_ it. And I _remembered_ it." He shrugged. "From somewhere, from somewhere in all the shit going on. I didn't get it. I didn't really... recognize you --" he quickly glanced to Blair then down, "-- until later. Too much shit. Couldn't smell you. Until the office. Sorry," he shrugged, like it was something to be sorry for. 

"Whoa..." breathed Blair. Then suddenly he leaned back and burst out laughing. "Oh man! We live in a fucked up world, Jim!" 

"What's so funny now?" Jim blustered. 

"Can you imagine?" Blair laughed. "Can you imagine if we _didn't_ live in a fucked up world? Wow!" He shook his head. "I know I have. A thousand times, man. I must have gone through that office scene a thousand times, a thousand different ways. And now to hear you say that... Whoo!" he blew out a breath and crossed his eyes for good measure. "Hot damn!" He laughed and shook his head and gave Jim his most provoking grin. "I'd have had you bent over my desk with your pants around your ankles in about eight and a half seconds." 

Jim gave his best show of bristling. "That long?" he grumbled. 

"Shit yeah man, I'd have spent the first six seconds waiting for you to say _yes_!" Sandburg whooped with laughter. "I am nothing if not a gentleman, Jim!" 

The muscle in Jim's jaw fluttered and Jim's neck went purple. He shook his head and rumbled under his breath for a moment before sighing and admitting, "Floor." He shrugged sheepishly. "I always saw it on the floor." 

Blair goggled with an open-mouthed smile like he'd caught the Easter Bunny and now all the candy in the world was his forever. "The _floor_?!" he spewed. "That floor hasn't been swept in _years_ , Jim!" 

"I know!" Jim blurted, astonished at himself. "It's filthy!" 

Blair couldn't resist. "Wow. I would have been so wrapped up in you..." He laughed again. "When we were done -- that first time, I mean -- and believe me, Jim, I have no illusions, that would have taken about the big 20 seconds _tops_ \-- I would have just looked down at you and told you, 'Let's go home. And where is home, by the way? I need to know where to forward my mail, because from now on I go where you go, and we are going to spend the rest of our lives within touching distance of each other, and did I mention my name is Blair?'" He shook his head again. "Wow. Shit." 

Jim rumbled and grumbled and looked up at Blair and down again a few times, and finally came out with, "Mine's stupid." 

"I bet it's _wonderful_ ," Blair urged him in a voice filled with humor and affection. 

Jim grumbled and mumbled and came out with, "...sick..." 

Blair shook his head. "No," he corrected him. "Wonderful." 

Jim looked at him askance, and took a deep breath. "Okay," he exhaled, then looked down at his hands. "After... you know, the wall... the floor..." another quick glance at Blair and then down, "well..." He straightened up and swallowed and spit it out. "Okay. I pick you up and carry you downstairs. And there are a couple of people who try and stop me, and I have to beat the crap out of them, okay?" he said defensively. "Sick, right?" 

"No," Blair breathed. "Pure as spring water." 

Jim threw him another glance, his nostrils flared like flags. "So then I put you in the truck and take you back to the loft," he plowed on quickly, "and lock the door behind us, and spend the next week and a half with you in me up to the ears, and me just -- just... _covering_ you with come until --" he stopped and clenched his fists and breathed heavily. 

"Until...?" Blair whispered. 

Jim exhaled again. "Until you smell right. Until you smell like me, like nothing but me, and I can smell you on me, down into the bone." He looked at Blair defiantly. And Blair just looked back at him, saying nothing, a smile on his face like the Universal Definition of Yes. Jim saw the expression and softened. "And I suppose that somewhere in there I tell you to keep your feet off the goddamn coffee table." And chuckled. And shrugged and confessed, "And then Simon calls," making Blair crow, "Oh, man, this is priceless! Go on!" 

Jim glared at him a moment before shrugging again, and went on. "And I have to tell Simon not to expect me in for a while, that everything's okay, that I just... you just... that my _Guide_ just showed up -- though, you know, I didn't have that word until later..." he shrugged again, "and don't worry, Simon, you'll meet him, I'm not taking another five steps without him --" a quick glance at Blair again and down -- "but, you know, we can't leave the loft yet. Until he _smells_ right." 

"Wow, that's beautiful, Jim," Blair smiled. "And I suppose," he nodded, going with it, "that I call the department and tell them to cancel my classes, that I just met my Sentinel -- and shit yes did I have the word for it, I could have given them _documentation_! And we're not leaving the loft until he says it's okay, and if I'm going to spend the rest of my life learning him by heart I've got a _lot_ of catching up to do, man!" 

Jim looked up. "Learning... by heart...?" 

"Oh yeah," Blair vowed. "Every blink, every twitch. Oh yeah." 

Jim bridled. "What do you mean by that, Sandburg?" 

"Just what I said, Jim," Blair said. "By heart." 

Jim couldn't help but ask again curiously, "What do you mean?" 

Blair sighed. "Like... like, there's that little crinkle in the corner of your right eye that means you've just said something you think is funny and can't see why nobody else gets the joke." 

Jim looked like he was getting bad news from the doctor, but steeled himself and asked, "What else?" 

"Like..." Blair closed his eyes. "This one's a new one for me..." He sighed. "Before you go to sleep, you know? If you're really, really happy... you make these little kneading motions with your toes, like a cat." He opened his eyes and looked over at Jim, and softly said, "Like that, Jim." 

Jim just looked at him for a second. Then groused, "I don't know if I like that, Chief." 

"Like it!?" Blair exclaimed. " _Like_ it? This has nothing to do with _like_ , Jim. Do you think I _like_ this? Do you?" he prodded, but didn't leave space before going on. "For shit's sake, you monitor me, don't you? Heartbeat, respiration, hormones in the sweat, shit like that, right?" 

"Sure," Jim said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

"Well, shit, you think I _like_ that? You think I _like_ that you know the state of my blinkin' bowels better than I do? That you can hear what I'm mumbling to myself in my goddamn throat? I'm just doing the same thing, Jim, with the only tools I have for the job! Monitoring you! You think this is about _like_? That this is about --" he cut himself off and considered Jim sharply for a moment. 

Jim just looked at him, waiting for whatever he'd come up with next. Blair sighed. "Here's a clue for you, Jim. A big fat honkin' clue. What's the one word that has _not_ come up in this conversation so far?" 

Jim shrugged. "Armadillo?" he hazarded. "Though I wouldn't put it past you..." 

"Love, Jim," Blair said quietly. "It's not about love, is it?" 

"Says who?" Jim bellowed. "You think I don't love you now? That I'd put up with all this _shit_ if I didn't love you? What the fuck are you talking about?" 

"I mean this is bigger than love. This is like obsession. This is _way_ beyond love, Jim." 

Jim looked at him simply, puzzled, like they were speaking different languages, and said, "Nothing is beyond love." 

That also seemed to be able to Shut Sandburg Up. For a moment. A menu of about fourteen different expressions auditioned on Blair's face in the space of about a second and a half before he seemed to settle on the Mildly Sardonic and Wary Combo with a side of Quizzical. "And you would know this?" he asked. 

"Better than you would, Romeo," Jim smiled thinly. "At least I tried. At least I stuck around." He thwarted the imminent onslaught of Sandburg's reply with one lifted hand. "I'm not saying I was _good_ at it," he added, shaking his head, "but I tried. I admit it, we didn't know shit, me and Carolyn, I was totally packed away, totally sealed off, and she was frozen in ice -- but we _tried_. We made a go of it. Love isn't ... moonlight and roses, Chief. That's romance. That's different. Love is day-in-day-out crap. Love is --" he sighed. "You don't know what love is until you're in the middle of the most hellish, repetitive, vicious argument you've ever been in, with someone you've spent all your days and nights with, and you're _this_ far from ripping their fucking face off with your hands, and you're _this_ far from telling them to go fuck themselves forever, and you're _this_ far from slamming the door behind you... maybe you do it, or maybe you don't, but either way you love them." He sighed. "As much as you can know how to love, anyway. You don't know _shit_ from love until you've promised someone you'd love them forever, and then ripped their heart out. On purpose or not. And known that you were doing it while you were doing it, and still loving them while you did it." He shrugged. "Love is knowing you've tried your best, and calling it quits as the best thing for both of you. And still loving them when they're calling you things you wouldn't call a drill sergeant on the second bottle of tequila. Sometimes even still loving them with their blood on your hands." The jaw clenched. "It's all in there, Chief. People are capable of anything. Plenty of room for a little obsession," he shrugged. "Read some case files. Fuck, read some literature." 

Blair looked at him like one of them wasn't getting it, but he couldn't tell which of them it was. "Jim," he said, "people in love can usually sit four feet from each other across a truck bed without _needing_ to touch each other like it's a blood transfusion or something. They may _think_ they can't, but they can. They think they can tell what the other one is thinking, but they don't usually get a _direct satellite feed_. They don't usually dream each other's dreams, do they? Do they, Jim?" 

It sounded like he was asking seriously, like he really wanted to know. Jim shook his head. "Every love story has its own craziness. This is just ours. It doesn't make it any different. Doesn't mean it's not love." A corner of a smile showed up and decided to stay. "People in love always dream each other's dreams, Chief. Just... maybe not at the exact same time." 

The clue bell was finally tolling for Sandburg. Like, all the cards had suddenly shuffled into place and life had dealt him a royal flush. With tongue and everything. "Jim..." whispered Blair, and Jim suddenly got this weird feeling like maybe he _could_ leap tall buildings in a single bound, if he got a good running start.... 

Jim flashed an eye through the window to the cab of the truck, and finding nothing to worry about at present, crooked a beckoning finger at his partner. "C'mere, Chief." He slid around and down so he was lying flat on the truck bed with his head right under the back cab window, where the driver couldn't see him. 

Blair scooted over to join him, and they lay on their sides facing each other, heads propped up by bent elbows. Jim ran a finger along Blair's jaw, reading the beard stubble like Braille. "I'm sorry I said what I said, really fucking sorry, misq'iy," he whispered. "You're right. Fold isn't an option. But we still have to live in a fucked-up world." 

Blair reached out to stroke Jim's hip. "I'm sorry too, Jim. You really scared me there. I hit the Big Red Button. Shouldn't have done that. Sorry, man." 

"I just don't want you to think ..." Jim sighed. "It's just... Covert Ops shouldn't be for this, Chief. Out of everything in the world to have to keep secret... I just can't see a way around it, you know? Not without _lying_ about it. The last thing in the world I want is to lie about you. I don't want you to think I'm _ashamed_ of you. Us. This. But I can't see a way around it. There really isn't one, is there?" 

"You were willing to throw the whole thing over rather than lie about it," Blair considered slowly. "Give it all up for the sake of honor. Yours and mine... My Lochinvar," he smiled, blooming. "You nincompoop." He leaned over and lightly brushed his lips to Jim's, a feather-light touch that they both felt as a static shock. Jim's tongue flicked out to run along Blair's lower lip, then quickly retreated like a small animal into its den. Blair's tongue darted out in its turn, running over where Jim had licked as if he liked the taste. Smiling, Jim let his finger follow the path of Blair's tongue, and smiling, Blair sucked it into his mouth. 

"Gotta admit it, I still don't like the idea of lying about this. It feels wrong," Jim murmured, watching a second finger disappear between Blair's wet lips. 

Blair shrugged and mumbled something around Jim's fingers, so Jim removed them, making Blair laugh. "Burton," Blair repeated more clearly, licking spit off his lips. 

Jim couldn't keep from snorting a laugh. "I can't wait to hear this one..." 

"You know, man. Our good old friend Captain Sir Richard F. The explorer, not --" 

"--the actor," Jim nodded with a twitch of smile. "Yeah, I know, I've heard it before, remember?" His mouth took a dive into Blair's neck. 

"Well, I mean, what you're worried about is just a social construct, Jim," Blair started up, wiggling back to get a little distance so he could focus properly on Jim's fondly rankled face. "It's a game," he said, warming to his subject. "Everybody agrees to play by the same rules. But what nobody tells you, what you have to figure out yourself, is that you can _surf_ the rules. There are big, basic rules, ones that people tend to carve in stone, Thou Shalt Not Kill type rules. Codes of Honor: do what you say, say what you mean, mean what you do. Stuff like that, deep timeless rules. And then there are the little rules, and those _change_. From place to place, time to time. They mean almost nothing in the big picture, the million-year eye-blink of Vishnu, right? So you keep your... your _compass_ , say, pointed north on the real rules, and _surf_ the little local speed traps. Get it?" 

"Your point being exactly what?" Jim asked, not knowing whether to be intrigued or perplexed or irritated, and settling for all of them. 

"The point being, Joke 'em if they can't take a fuck, man!" Blair smiled. "When it comes to the big rules, the real game, it's all in here," he continued more seriously, pointing at Jim's head. "And here," pointing at Jim's heart. "Burton knew that," he insisted. "He struggled with the little rules all his life so society would let him live by his own big ones. He didn't always win. But he knew what counted." Then Jim saw him put on what Jim thought of as Sandburg's Quote Face. "Do what thy manhood bid thee do," Blair quoted. "From none but self expect applause. He noblest lives and noblest dies who makes and keeps his self-made laws." He shrugged. "Burton. Talking about you, Jim." 

And the clue bell tolled for Jim. "That's the real shit," he said wonderingly. 

"He was the real shit," Blair agreed, nodding. "So are you. Us. It." 

Jim grabbed his face. "All of it, Blair," he growled. 

"All of it, Jim," Blair promised. "No more big red button. Laundry, paperwork, serial killers, coffee table... all of it, man." 

They kissed like somebody was trying to tear them apart, tangled together under the open sky. Then lay together for a long while just watching the road pass. 

Finally Sandburg sighed and squirmed in Jim's arms and whined, "Are we there yet?" 

"Five more minutes, Chief," Jim lied with a gentle smirk, picking absently through Blair's tangles. "Why don't you get some sleep, in this lovely rocking cradle?" 

"Naaaah, not sleepy," Blair responded. "Wired, in fact. Maybe I'll get some reading done though..." 

"You can read?" Jim scoffed. "Reading in a car always makes me want to puke, and in the back of an empty pickup truck --" he shook his head and made a face. 

"I can read anywhere," Blair boasted. "One of these days ask me to tell you the one about the motorcycle and 'Sonnets From The Portuguese' and a sophomore named Cheryl." He scootched his ass up to a sitting position and rested Jim's head in his lap. "But why don't you get some sleep, Jim? You didn't get much the past couple of nights, did you, watching out for things that go bump in the night." 

"Right," Jim bitched, rubbing his face cozily against Blair's furry thigh. "With the bumps and the pings and the guy behind the wheel torturing his clutch like he's trying to get it to confess. Not to mention the empanadas he had for lunch." 

Blair laughed. "Knock yourself out, man." He reached over and grabbed his pack, dragging it closer and unzipping it. 

"Fuck you, Sandburg," Jim grumbled happily with his eyes closed. "Knock yourself out yourself." 

"No man, I mean it," Blair said absently, rummaging. "Put yourself out. Find something comfy and zone on it. I'll cover your ass." He pulled out a notebook and opened it, resting it on Jim's head. "I'll cover your face, too," he smirked. "Keep the sun off." 

Jim batted the notebook off his head, rolled over, and laid his teeth into Blair's thigh. Just enough to make Sandburg jerk and yip. 

Blair's hand splatted down onto Jim's face and rocked his head back and forth. "Be good, Jim," Blair mock-scolded. "If you're good, one of these days I'll tell you how I decoded your silverware tray." 

Jim's eyes popped open. "What the --?" he mumbled, perplexed. But he didn't move. 

"Shhhh... Just relax, man, close your eyes and relax..." Blair stroked his face with the tips of his fingers. 

Jim closed his eyes. "Talk to me..." he murmured. 

Blair giggled gently, "Man, that's something I wish I could have on tape. You _asking_ me to talk." 

"Piss off, Sandburg," Jim purred. "You're gonna do it anyway, so you might as well do it. Sing to me..." 

"Sing to you?" Blair whispered. 

Jim nuzzled something along the lines of "...nice voice..." into Blair's leg and rolled over. Then clearly declared, "No more Quechua. Sick of Quechua." 

"You got it, man, as far from Quechua as we can get." Blair smothered a small laugh and let his fingers trail over Jim's face and neck, spiral around his ear, lost in thought. "Gotcha covered," he whispered. 

Jim sighed and grumbled himself into a more comfortable position in Blair's lap. Blair started humming almost tunelessly, droning more than anything, letting his fingers play almost absently over Jim's skin, as the Sentinel settled and his chest started to rise and fall slowly, heavily. It wasn't until the Guide heard the deep, rhythmic breathing he'd decoded to mean real sleep that he let the tune take on words: "...thought of you as my mountaintop, thought of you as my peak, thought of you as everything I had but just couldn't keep... I linger on your pale blue eyes... linger on... your pale blue eyes..." 

* * *

"This one's for the Sumerians, who invented beer!" 

_Clink clink_ "To the Sumerians." 

"Though have you ever had Sumerian beer, man? Sumerian beer _sucks_ , man! Flat as piss, man! Which reminds me..." Blair scraped back his chair and stood. 

"Again!? Jesus, Chief, you must have used every flush toilet between Iquitos and Lima!" Jim growled, and had to stifle a small belch. 

"Not the one on the plane, man, even I couldn't go there," Blair protested. The puddle-jumper flight over the Andes was best left unmentioned. "You gotta hand it to indoor plumbing, Jim, though I have no problem with going au naturel, dude, but plumbing is the way to go --" 

"I know, Chief, we toasted Thomas Crapper half an hour ago," Jim pointed out. "And the Romans an hour before that." 

"So just hang out, grab some more of those peanuts off the bar, will you? I'm going to go and pick up some more munchies, some chips or something, something really gross with petroleum-based creme filling, maybe some newspapers, I'm jonesing for print, yeah, and a couple of those really lurid fotonovelas, sure..." Blair wandered out of the airport bar, leaving Jim to sit, contemplating frosty beer and neon brand-names and Thomas Crapper and salty peanuts and lousy dance music on the cheap stereo. Any one of them was still a marvel at this point, infinitely zone-able, but put them all together and it felt like some kind of skewed Disneyland. He felt like he was on a three-day pass and all bets were off. Better even, because Sandburg was there, and the image of him at large, bouncing around on his own in the main departure terminal of Jorge Chavez International Airport -- shit, it should have been terrifying, but for some reason and several beers it was liberating, damn it, like putting a frog in someone's bed when you were a kid. 

The luggage was checked -- even the blowgun, in one of those tubes like you used for architect's blueprints, care of Rainier, no questions asked \-- and it wasn't his damn problem anymore, the only thing to do was wait for the flight to Cascade to be called, and what better way to kill a couple hours than El Bar Golf, centrally located in the main terminal, with frosty beer and flush toilets and salty peanuts and local league futbol on the tube. And Sandburg At Large, no telling what he'd get up to. Jim stifled a smile in a mouthful of beer. 

In no time at all Blair was back, with newspapers from three different cities but all named the Times, two issues of something called Sexi Sensationel and a bag of Na-Cheezy Chips. Jim was almost disappointed. Almost. 

"Hey Jim, check it out, I got you something." 

God exists, Jim thought smugly. He grabbed for the chips and asked, "You couldn't get Ranch?" 

"No, dude, this!" Blair scooted into the chair opposite Jim and plonked a small jewelry box on the table between them. "Open it." 

Jim gave him a look known to give men in maximum-security prisons nightmares, but Blair just smiled. "What?" Jim muttered. "Now you're _proposing_ or something?" 

"Hey man, you're the one who promised my _mamay_ ," Blair retorted. "Some places, that's as good as registering a china pattern. Open it," he repeated, pointing. 

Grumbling, Jim picked up the box and opened it, telling himself that whatever it was, he'd asked for it. It was -- "Are you sure this is the right box, Chief?" -- a pair of tiny black stud earrings. Shiny black, but not all black, black with like trails of smoke through it. Like drops of a cloudy night coalesced. 

"Saw them, thought of you. Us. It," Blair shrugged, momentarily embarrassed for once almost into Jimspeak. "I thought, why should I be the one to go home with all the fun jewelry and tats and toys and shit? So, you've still got that earring hole --" 

"How did you know about that?" Jim reared back. 

"I've licked it, Jim," Blair reminded him. "Anyway, it's snowflake obsidian from the Lake Titicaca region," he said, referring to the ear studs, as if anybody cared. "The black is really glossy, kind of like you know a cat's fur," he mentioned quickly and off-handedly, "and the white is really more kind of gray and smoky if you look at it, and for a moment it reminded me of well you know," he shrugged, "and now that you look at it it's a really dumb idea, isn't it." 

His hand darted forward to grab the box back, but Jim splatted it to the table. The moment Jim let go it darted back to the edge of the table where it tapped and fidgeted vigilantly. 

Jim picked one of the ear studs out the box. The tiny bead of black volcanic glass looked like a drop of oil on his broad fingertip as he fumbled to find the long-unused piercing in his own left ear. Once it was securely fastened, he glanced over at Blair and self-consciously asked, "Does it look stupid?" 

"No, no, very severe, very conservative," Blair rushed to reassure him, "Elegant really. Masculine, but self-assured, not overcompensatingly macho or... and you don't really want the fashion report, do you," he wound down sheepishly. 

"There's two of them," observed the detective through narrowing eyes. 

"Well yeah, I said it was a dumb idea," Blair backpedaled. "I figured, you know, I always have room for one more." He shrugged, suddenly engrossed in the departure-and-arrival monitor over the bar. 

Jim looked at him over a small sip of beer. "Nope," he said smugly, just to watch him squirm for a second. "You've got too many as it is." He reached across the small table, tucked Blair's hair behind his left ear and deftly popped out the two silver rings that hung there. He dropped them in the hand that still lurked and tapped at the edge of the table. 

Jim tilted his chair back slightly and said, "You've got room for one. One." He let slip a corner of complacent smile. 

Blair found himself stuffing the two silver rings into his pocket and grabbing for the remaining stud and hoping he wouldn't drop it. He picked a piercing at random and jammed it through. "One is good. I can do one. I think," he giggled, then caught himself and cleared his throat. "I mean, if it's a hell of a one, sure." He looked at Jim and repeated, "A hell of a one..." shaking his head with a smile. 

Jim smirked. Then, as if something had just occurred to him, said, "You know, I have something for you too, Chief." He reached into his pocket. "I didn't buy it." He snorted. "That's the truth." He pulled his hand from his pocket and slapped it onto the table with a _clack_. When he pulled it away, on the table was a dull metal cylinder with a copper-jacketed tip. A bullet. 

Even Blair knew this was a time to just keep his mouth shut and wait for it. 

"You know," Jim said conversationally, almost off-handedly, "I've had that thing for years now. Never really paid attention to it, never bothered with it really. Just one of those little things that sits on that little tray on the dresser with the cufflinks and tie tack you wear once a year, you know?" 

Blair laughed, "Most people have whole drawers full of that kind of stuff, Jim." 

Jim shut him up with a look. "So I never paid too much attention to it," he repeated. "Some kind of good luck charm from when I was in the military, from one of the dozens of times I _didn't_ end up in a bag." He shrugged. "And I stuck it in my backpack before this trip, for no real reason I could come up with. And I want you to hang onto it for me, that's all." 

"Jim..." 

"It's weird," Jim continued as if he hadn't heard Blair, as if such a thing were possible. "I didn't remember what that bullet was, what it meant, until, you know, that night in the hut..." he looked at Blair for confirmation, and Blair nodded -- he knew what Jim was talking about, all right: that long night of smoke and visions. The hell, the gun in Jim's mouth, the taste of cold metal and powder solvent... 

"These senses," Jim went on in a low voice. "If I can't control them... there's only one thing standing between me and eating that bullet," he said, nodding at the squat cartridge between them on the table. "When you boil it down, that's what it comes down to. Me... these senses... that bullet... and my Guide. You." A quick stony glance to Blair, and then down to his hands. "Keep an eye on it, would you?" His eyes flicked up to the monitor, and he stood up. "Come on, Chief, they're going to call our flight." 

Quickly standing too, Blair blurted, "Are you kidding?" before he could stop himself. He grabbed the bullet and tied the flanged end into the claw necklace that hung around his neck. The feathers had been torn off by their three-day trek out of the jungle, but the two jaguar claws were still strung there, and now the bullet hung tightly bound between them. "I'll never take it off!" 

"Don't get too carried away there, Chief," Jim muttered, embarrassed. "Uh, listen, why don't you go on ahead and I'll catch up. My turn to take a piss." 

"Flush one for me, man!" Blair called far too loudly for Jim's preference, let alone his hearing, as he grabbed their stuff and took off down to the departure gate. 

Some minutes later, strolling down the endless wide corridor of the terminal, Jim wasn't surprised to hear Blair's voice wafting back at him; he would have been far more surprised if he couldn't. But the tone, though, and the response it was getting... 

"Oh, man, you gotta be kidding!" 

"I'm sorry, sir, you'll have to step aside." 

"I'm telling you, this is a mistake!" 

Sandburg At Large, Jim reminded himself grimly, breaking into a controlled trot. No telling what he'd get up to. 

Blair wasn't going anywhere in a hurry. A couple of security personnel had clustered around him at the metal detector, waving handheld detectors over his outstretched arms and legs. Another guard was going through the papers and Sandburg's satchel and shaking the bag of chips as if he were checking for a secret toy surprise. 

Jim slowed to a walk and put on his Cop Attitude as he strolled up to the guards. "Is there a problem here? This man is with me." 

"Really?" a guard said intently, looking Jim up and down. "That's interesting. Would you step through the detector, please?" 

"Not until you tell me what's going on here," Jim replied sternly, aware that once he passed the metal detector there'd be no way to get back to Blair without a fight. 

"We suspect your... companion is attempting to bring unauthorized weapons aboard the aircraft. Can you tell us anything about this, sir?" the guard asked neutrally. 

The blowgun? But that was checked, Jim thought. No way they could be catching that now... 

"I keep telling you," Blair insisted, "if I was going to be _smuggling_ the shit, would I be _wearing_ one?" 

The guard turned to Blair. "Then perhaps you could tell us, sir, _why_ you're bringing live ammunition aboard the plane." He held up the necklace with the bullet tied into it. 

Jim rolled his eyes. He knew he should have stuffed the bullet into his backpack like he had for the flight down, but ever since that long night in the smoky little hut in the forest ... well, he'd just wanted to know it was there, the small, solid and substantial weight in his pocket on the trek out. He should have known better. 

He reached into his pocket for his shield, figuring to put a stop to this nonsense, but was cut short by Sandburg's cool response to the guard: "I told you, it's a religious symbol." 

"Really?" replied the guard mockingly, scowling at Blair. "You worship the bullet, my friend?" 

Blair pointed to the small gold crucifix hanging around the guard's neck. "If Jesus came back today, you'd be wearing a little electric chair." 

The guard reared back. His eyes narrowed as he and Blair stood, staring each other down. Jim held his breath and wondered what it was going to take for that police captain friend of Simon's in Lima to get them out of lockup without blabbing the whole thing to Simon. He really, really didn't want Simon to get a call from Sandoval telling him that his best detective team was being detained in Peru, even on a bullshit charge. 

It was a game of chicken, a battle of heartbeats, each pounding with steadfast determination; neither man was giving an inch. Sandburg simply held the guard's gaze like a snake mesmerizing a monkey. And finally the guard shook his head and handed the necklace back to him. "I hope you enjoyed your stay in Peru, sir," he said, dripping sarcasm from every pore. "Have a safe flight." 

"Thanks!" Blair said with a smile as brilliant as his twinkling eyes, hanging the necklace around his neck. "I had a great time; you can bet I'll be back!" He winked at the guard and turned to Jim. "Come on, man!" 

Blair had to wait while Jim went through the detector and was subjected to a search that reminded him of his days on Vice. Jim wondered idly if the guard believed in cavity searches on a first date, and considered asking him if he'd respect him in the morning. But he thought better of it, and finally the two travelers were set free to enter the departure area with their dignity reasonably intact. 

"See, man?" Blair told him blithely as they raced to board the plane. "Piece of cake! I told you, I've done this a thousand times!" 

_Piece of cake?_ Jim thought, mind boggling. Well, he supposed, compared to bullet holes, serial killers and car wrecks... 

* * *

At long last, they were jammed into cramped, musty-smelling coach seats, and the 767 was hurtling over the Pacific like a jet-propelled sardine tin. The movie was some idiotic comedy, and half the passengers had their headphones turned up so high that Jim was grinding his teeth, beginning to wonder whether temporary insanity caused by low-fidelity feedback and bad dialog would be an admissible defense for the justifiable homicide of an entire planeload of tourists. And it didn't come anywhere near to drowning out the creaks and groans of the fuselage, the godawful drone of the ventilation system that still couldn't get rid of the stink of fuel, the navigator in the cockpit complaining that he needed a raise, and the blabbing of their fellow passengers. The pathetically flimsy sleep mask and foam earplugs provided by the airline were worse than useless -- not to mention scratchy. Next time, Jim admonished himself, packing light would be no excuse for not taking along his own heavy sleep mask and white-noise generating earplugs. They were small. And worth their weight in platinum. 

In the window seat beside him, Blair squirmed and sighed and fidgeted and jammed the miniscule airline pillow against the wall, trying to get comfortable and having as little success as Jim was. Usually, Blair could sleep anywhere; Jim was surprised he wasn't out like a light. 

Grumbling, Blair turned, slammed up the armrest between them, and propped the pillow against Jim's shoulder, snuggling into Jim and sighing. Jim stiffened. 

Blair sprang upright. "Sorry, dude." 

"No, no," Jim groaned. "I'm just not --" 

"No, man, you're right, it's cool, I wasn't thinking. Discretion is key." He flopped over again and leaned against the wall. 

"I just can't get comfortable, Chief," Jim sighed. 

Blair sat up again. "Neither can I," he shook his head. "I think it's been too long since I've slept without using a big slab o' Sentinel for a pillow." He scratched his head and winked at Jim with a wry smile. "But it's no biggie. I'll deal." 

Jim's jaw twitched. "Um..." he said thoughtfully, "do you know any of the people on this plane?" 

"No..." Blair slowly replied. 

"Neither do I," Jim responded decisively. He put his arm around Blair's shoulders and pulled him back over against his chest. 

Blair looked up at him doubtfully. "Uh, Jim, are you sure about this? I mean, it's your call and all..." 

Jim set a carefully neutral gaze on the undersized, fuzzy movie screen and settled Blair's head to his shoulder. "Joke 'em if they can't take a fuck," he muttered defiantly. 

"You tell 'em, Tarzan," mumbled Blair with a tiny smile. He snuggled himself into Jim's arm, sighed cozily and promptly passed out. 

Jim closed his eyes and shifted position slightly, resting his head against Blair's dark, fragrant curls. All of a sudden he found it effortless to filter out the plane noises, the movie dialog, the scratchy seat, the odors of crowded humanity and microwaved food. He lost himself in deep, easy breathing, a serene, hypnotic heartbeat, a mellow herb-and-musk scent. The universe that was his Guide, safely in his arms where he belonged, skin to skin, exquisite and complete... 

Out there was a fucked-up world just waiting to get in their face. But he'd worry about that later. Sheltered in the first perfect peace he could ever remember, the Sentinel slept. 

\----------to be concluded. Really! I swear!--------------


End file.
